


Mind's Eye

by xenascully



Series: Castiel's Army [2]
Category: NCIS, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Elements, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-17
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenascully/pseuds/xenascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The D.C area is crawling with demons. Word slips of the Winchesters' presence and one by one, the demons will attack. They'll need their friends at NCIS now, more than they realize... SECOND installment in Castiel's Army SERIES. (Sequel to 'Vengeance')</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own, nor do I profit (other than feelings of glee) from use of NCIS or Supernatural characters.

It was late when Dean was thrust awake from a sleep he hadn't realized he'd fallen into. He was at the kitchen table still; face planted beside the open laptop, illuminated from the glow on the screen. The sound of the front door opening caused him to bolt upright, slowly closing the computer as he cautiously stood; knife ready at his side.  
Dean walked with silent footsteps toward the living room, not taking his eyes off of his sleeping brother until shadows were cast somewhere beside him. “Just us,” Gibbs hushed voice rang out loud enough for him to hear, and he took a relieved breath and tucked the knife away as he saw the two agents come through the kitchen doorway.

“Sorry. Old habits die hard,” Dean smirked. He pulled a chair out for Tony, who seemed to be heading for it, and sat back down in the one he'd previously occupied. “You feelin' okay now?” he asked him, glancing briefly at Gibbs who was grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Yeah, I'm good,” Tony replied sleepily.

Dean met the agent's eyes again, “Look, I'm sorry 'bout what happened. I shoulda made sure the rope was more secure...”

“Nah, I should've picked a better place to stick the mic,” Tony smirked. “Not your fault.” Gibbs set the water in front of Tony, along with a bottle of ibuprofen. “Your brother looks...painfully uncomfortable on Gibbs' couch,” he commented before swallowing down a couple of the pills.

Dean smirked, “We've slept in more confining places, trust me. Sasquatch is pretty much accepting of the fact that there's not many accommodating places for him to spread out.”

“Where are you gonna crash?” Tony asked Dean as Gibbs took a seat at the table with a beer. “And don't say the table, 'cause the imprint it's made already,” Tony motioned to Dean's cheek, “Isn't workin' for ya,” he smirked.

Dean blindly felt for the mark-in-question on his cheek. “Well, I didn't intend on passing out here. Just kinda happened. I'm not exactly sure what rooms are open for taking.”

“There's a guest room down here,” Gibbs told him. “One upstairs too, but you can take the one down here since your brother's already passed out.”

“Thanks,” Dean nodded, then looked down at the table-top as his thoughts wandered to what Castiel had informed him of earlier.

“I'm gonna head up to bed,” Gibbs said as he stood from the table, draining the last of his beer. “Try and get some sleep, DiNozzo,” he patted him on the shoulder before heading out.  
“Night, boss,” Tony said before Gibbs left the room. He turned to look at Dean again, sensing something was on his mind. “So...you guys leavin' tomorrow?”

Dean looked back up at him; eyes jotting around a bit before settling on Tony's. “Actually, it looks like we'll be stayin' a bit longer. A friend let us know tonight that there's a bunch of baddies we need to stick around and take care of.”

Tony swallowed. “Yeah...about that,” he started. “When that thing was in me...I saw some stuff...”

Dean narrowed his eyes, “What kinda stuff?”

“I'm not completely sure about all of it. But, I saw the people he possessed. The guy he was in before me; the attendant before him; the three men he possessed...and I...saw him kill the women.” 

“That sucks out loud, man. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah well...what can ya do, right?” he forced a smile. “Thing is,” his smile faded. “I didn't see McGee in any of that. And when ya think about it, the demon didn't know Ziva and me. He would've known us from seeing us at the house...”

Dean straightened, “Whatever possessed McGee was a different demon.”

“Seems to be the case,” Tony swallowed again, then decidedly took a long drink of his water. Dean seemed to be distracted by his thoughts again and the room was fairly silent for a couple of minutes. “So uh...” Tony began and Dean looked at him. “I was thinkin' about maybe getting a tattoo...”


	2. Chapter 2

“Rise an' shine, Sammy,” Dean said in an uncharacteristically hushed voice as to not wake anyone else in the house.

Sam opened his eyes and looked over at his brother who was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, repacking his bag. “I thought I told you not to wake me up with that line ever again, man.”

“Oh yeah... sorry,” he narrowed his eyes for a moment. 

“What time is it?” he asked as he sat up.

“Early,” he replied flatly.

“Well, what's up with that? I thought we were staying in town for a while?”

“We are. But we've got laundry to do. And I thought we'd go find a hotel; I don't wanna keep freeloading off these people.”

“Cas said this house is protected, though. Don't you think we should stay here? Tell them what's happening?”

“I think if anyone stays here, it should be them. They're the ones that need protecting from all this crap. We're just bringin' it upon them.” Dean stood and threw his bag over his shoulder. “You comin', or what?”

“Are we gonna at least talk to them about it?”

“I talked to Tony about it already. We were up talkin' a couple of hours last night.” Dean stood there, expecting for Sam to get up so they could go. But Sam sat expectantly for him to elaborate. “Dude, we're not leavin' town; just getting a damn room. Now come on. I'm freakin' hungry.”

Sam gathered his things and made his way out to the Impala after Dean. “So what'd you talk about, exactly?” he asked as he pulled his door shut. 

“He saw some of the demon's memories,” Dean said as he pulled his own door shut as well.

Sam furrowed his brows, “That's...new. Or...is that even possible?”

“Not really all that sure,” he replied as he started the car. “It's not like we've ever really interviewed a possession survivor.”

“What'd he see?”

“All the people the demon possessed; the killings.”

“Maybe it was on the demon's mind or something at the time,” Sam said in thought.

“Interesting thing is, he never saw McGee,” he glanced at Sam before putting his eyes back on the road. “The demon that possessed him was a different demon altogether.”

“Who just...dropped by another demon's kill?”

“Maybe he wanted to check out the show. Who knows? Bobby's gonna be callin' us today, so we'll see if he can't figure out if somethin's goin' on.” They spent the next several minutes in silent thought before pulling into a rickety-looking motel. “There's a cafe next door,” Dean said as he parked. “Go check us in and I'll get us a table.”

11 00 11 00 11

 

Gibbs walked upstairs after starting the coffee brewing. He'd intended on letting Tony sleep a while longer, but it was getting a bit late. He knocked on the open door before poking his head into the room. “Hey,” he called to the still sleeping agent. There was no movement from the sprawled out man on the bed.   
Tony was on his back, eyes closed and mouth just a bit open. “DiNozzo,” Gibbs called a bit louder. When Tony didn't respond, Gibbs narrowed his eyes and walked into the room to approach the bed. Noticing the slightly flush color of his skin, Gibbs sat down on the edge of the bed. Tony's chest seemed to be rising and falling a bit quicker than normal. Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder with intent to shake him awake, and immediately felt the heat radiating from him. Worry now etching the lead agent's features, he redoubled his efforts to rouse him, “Tony, c'mon. Gotta get up,” he squeezed his shoulder.

Tony's eyes fluttered open and focused on Gibbs. “Boss?” he rasped. “I...I don't...feel so good.”

“Yeah. Think you're runnin' a fever. Need to get you back over to Bethesda.”

“'Kay, boss,” he said as his eyes fluttered closed again. The fact that Tony had agreed so easily and without argument, worried the hell out of Gibbs.   
Pulling out his cell, he stood from the bed and made his way to the bathroom as he dialed Ducky's number. He held it between his ear and shoulder as he wet a washcloth with cool water and wrung it out in the sink.

“Yes, Jethro. How is young Anthony fairing this morning?” Ducky sounded after answering on the other line.

“Think he's got a fever, Duck. And he seems to be breathin' a bit fast. Should I call for an ambulance?” he asked as he made his way back to the bed with the cloth.

“That might be a wise decision. This could just be a mild and common reaction to the transfusion, but better to be safe than sorry.”

“Alright, Duck. Thanks.” He ended the call and dialed for an ambulance as he sat back down on the edge of the bed and ran the cloth over Tony's forehead. The action caused a violent shudder to run through Tony's body and Gibbs immediately withdrew the cloth. “Damn,” he cursed, setting the cloth on the nightstand and pulling the covers more securely around Tony.  
After telling the dispatcher where to come, he ended the call and set his phone down beside the cloth and picked up Tony's bottle of water. He slipped a gentle hand behind the agent's neck, “Hey, Tony. Try and drink some water, for me.” Tony's eyes fluttered, but didn't open. But he reached blindly to Gibbs' arm out in front of him until he found the bottle. Gibbs kept his grip around the water bottle as Tony's fingers secured around his hold, and Gibbs tilted Tony's head up a bit and guided the bottle to his mouth. Tony took a few sips and pushed it away just before some of the water escaped down the wrong pipe. He coughed a bit and Gibbs decidedly helped him to sit up, fitting himself slightly behind him to keep him upright.

“Boss, what...what's wrong with me?” Tony asked weakly as he limply settled back against Gibbs.

“Duck thinks it might have somethin' to do with the transfusion. But you'll be okay,” he reassured him. Tony's lack of response indicated that he'd drifted off to sleep again. Gibbs closed his eyes as he laid his head back against the wall and awaited the arrival of help...

11 00 11 00 11

“I'll just have the Cobb salad,” Sam told their waitress.

“And I'll have...a cheeseburger an' fries,” Dean gave a flirty grin before handing her his menu. She nodded to them and took the menus before scurrying off to fill their order.

“So...you were saying Tony had contracted a mutated strand of the Pneumonic Plague?” Sam questioned Dean.

“Yeah, man. It's insane. Some crazy executive chick sent a letter chock-full of the stuff, threatening that if they didn't reopen an old case, she wouldn't send them the cure for it,” he leaned forward on the table with his elbows.

“I thought the post office scanned for that kinda stuff...”

“Yeah, well, the bitch was crazy, but not dumb. She used a lead SWAK to mask it from the scanners. Anyway, the mutation made it resistant to antibiotics. I did some research on the plague...man that crap must've been harsh. He had like a...15% chance of survival once the strand died off.”

“You really did do some research, didn't you?” Sam raised his brows in surprise.

“Well, yeah, Sam! This guy has a track record for trouble finding him, almost as bad as we do.”

“But apparently he's got some good luck on his side as well. I mean, he survived.”

“Yeah, but he's got permanently scarred lungs, now. In fact, Ducky managed to use that fact to prove a toasted corpse found in Tony's car, wasn't his body.”

“I'm...not even gonna ask,” Sam smirked. Dean returned the smirk and took a sip of his soda. Almost immediately afterward, he began coughing. “You okay?”

“Yeah-” he coughed again, patting his chest. “Just went down...the wrong pipe.” His mind wandered to thoughts of his research the previous night; details of what happened to a body infected with the plague virus, fresh in his mind. 

“Well, I called Ziva and let her know we'll be staying in town for a while longer, since we didn't leave a note or anything at Gibbs' house,” Sam told him. “She said she'd call if they came across anything strange.” Dean simply nodded, not trusting his voice just yet, as the soda still seemed to threaten in the back of his throat.

The waitress came and set their plates in front of them, asking if they needed anything before she left. Dean picked up his burger and took a rather large bite, ignoring the slight look of disgust from Sam. It honestly shouldn't even happen at this point; Sam's surprise. Dean's never really strayed from the selections or manner in which he consumed his food. How long could it possibly take to become desensitized?  
“Any idea when Bobby's gonna call?” Sam asked. “I'm not even sure where to start looking for this new one,” he added before putting a forkful of the salad into his mouth.

“Technically,” Dean said without regard for the mouthful of burger, “He said 'today', so that could mean anytime between now and midnight.”

“Okay, well...maybe we should talk to McGee; see if he remembers catching glimpses of anything while he was possessed.”

“Guess it's possible, if Tony saw stuff,” Dean agreed. “You got his number?”

“No. I've got...actually I've got everyone's but his.”

“You could call Gibbs and get the number from him,” Dean suggested.

Sam cocked his head, “I'm not calling Gibbs for a phone number.”

“What're you scared?” Dean smirked.

“No,” he defended. “I'll...text Abby and get her to send it to me.”

“Oh, I see,” Dean's smile grew. “You've got a thing for the goth princess.”

“No, I don't,” Sam made an incredulous face. “Besides, I think she's got some kinda...thing for McGee.”

“Where'd you pick up that vibe?” Dean furrowed his brow in disbelief. But before Sam could reply, Dean started coughing again.

“Dude, did you like...forget how to swallow or something?”

“Shut the hell up, Sam,” he defended as he threw his burger down on the plate and pushed it away. He coughed a few more times. “I'm not hungry anymore, anyway.”

“Half a burger and you're done?” 

“I'm tired, man. Didn't sleep much last night.”

“You feelin' okay?” Sam became slightly worried and Dean detected it immediately.

“Dude, I'm fine. Just eat your rabbit food and I'll text Abby,” he pulled out his cell and punched in the text. After sending the message, he tucked the phone back into his pocket and swallowed against a sudden churning in his stomach. Sam looked up at him as the older brother blinked a few times and suddenly looked a bit green. “I'm uh...gonna go outside; get some air,” he said as he pushed up from the table and quickly made his way toward the door.

Sam's worry went up a notch then, and he stood, throwing a few bills down on the table before following after his brother. He found him outside, vomiting into a bush beside the restaurant, and he rushed up to his side. “Dean, are you okay, man?” he put a hand on his shoulder, but Dean shrugged it off.

“I knew there was somethin' wrong with that burger,” he said after coughing and spitting. A sound came from his cell and he fished it out and handed it to Sam. “Man, I'm tired.”

“Well, let's go back to the room so you can crash for a while,” Sam told him and waited for Dean to start walking before leading the way. 

As soon as they walked into the room, Dean made his way to the bed farthest from the door and slowly sunk down on his side on top of the covers, kicking his shoes off before tucking a pillow under his head. “She give us the number?” he asked.

“Yeah. I'm gonna text him in case he's working or something and can't talk. Dean, do you want me to go get you something from the drug store?” 

“Nah, I'll be fine. Screw that cafe though, Sammy. Next time, I pick where we eat.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam let out a small laugh. “I didn't pick the cafe, though,” he raised his brows as he typed out a text to McGee. The only reply he received was a grunt from Dean. “I'm gonna go pick us up some beer,” Sam said as he tucked his phone away and set Dean's on the nightstand. “And I'll get you some ginger ale in case your stomach bugs you again.”

“Thanks, mom,” Dean grumbled. 

Sam smirked. “Be back in five.”

11 00 11 00 11

McGee walked into Abby's lab with a Caf-Pow and a frustrated look on his face. “Hey, Timmy!” she said cheerfully. “Dean asked for your number, so I gave him your cell. He said they needed to ask you something.”

“They're still here?” he asked as he handed her the drink.

“Well, I dunno. I didn't exactly try and track them down or anything,” she replied before taking a sip from the straw.

McGee's cell beeped and he fished it out to look at the screen. “Someone sent me a text,” he said. 

“Probably Dean,” she shrugged.

“Actually, it's from Sam,” he corrected as he opened the text. “He says to give him a call when I have a minute.”

“Well, are you busy?”

“Sort of...I dunno. I'm trying to write up the report on what happened with the case yesterday. But I have no idea where to even start,” his shoulder slumped.

“Well, just wait for the bossman to get in. I'm sure he can help with that.”

“He won't be in for at least another hour,” Ducky's voice sounded from the door, and they spun around to see him as he walked in. “Tony had to be taken back to the hospital this morning,” he informed them.

“Ohmygod, what happened?” Abby asked, worriedly.

“Febrile non-hemolytic transfusion reaction,” he told them. “It won't cause any permanent damage, but it is quite unpleasant. He was running a fever and breathing shallowly when Jethro went to wake him. They're treating him, now, and I'm about to be on my way to sit with him so that Jethro can come back here and assist in...whatever it is you'll need to be doing for your report.”

“What'd you report as the cause of death for the Marine, Ducky?” McGee questioned. The woman's heart had been crushed, by what looked like the grip of a human hand.

“She died of heart-failure, Timothy,” he put his hat on and turned to walk out. 

Tim turned back to Abby and sighed. “I hope Gibbs has some idea how to explain the undercover op. I mean, I know what we could say. But obviously it's gonna have to match up, all around; with everyone.”

“The truth shall set you free, McGee,” she squinted, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“The truth shall send me to the loony-bin, Abs,” he retorted.

“They haven't sent me to the loony-bin!”

“They also don't give you a badge and gun.”

“Maybe I don't want a gun,” she defended. “Maybe I'm perfectly happy with my babies and my lab and my...my team of new believers in things unknown!” 

“It's one thing to believe it. But another, entirely, to fill out a report claiming it's real, without proof. I don't need to explain this to you, Abby. You know this!”

“Yes,” she calmed. “I do. All I meant was...fill it out the way it happened, minus the demon. Simple!”

“Simple...yeah,” he rolled his eyes.

11 00 11 00 11

 

Dean wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep once he finally woke. He was more than positive it'd been a hell of a lot longer than five minutes, but Sam was no where to be seen. He yawned, which he immediately regretted once it caused him to start coughing again. He cursed under his breath at the absurdity. “Must be getting sick,” he said to himself. “Bound to happen some time.” Dean pushed up off of the bed and went to the mini-fridge. There was a note on it from Sam...

Stuck around doing some research online for a couple of hours. You seem pretty out of it, so I'm going out to call Bobby, and I'm gonna swing by the library for a bit. Call if you need anything.

-Sam

Dean stuffed the paper in his pocket and opened the fridge, happy to see the six-pack Sam left for him. He grabbed one of the bottles and made his way back to his bed, grabbing the remote before he plopped back down. He clicked the TV on and set the remote beside him on the bed, then moved to open the top of the beer. He furrowed his brow as it seemed impossible to grip. Dean lifted the bottom of his shirt and draped it over the stubborn cap. With the help of the fabric, he managed to get the bottle open. He felt weak, and obviously he was. “Must be food poisoning or somethin',” he thought. “Stupid D.C. Stupid cafe. Stupid burger...” he tossed the cap toward the plastic trashcan next to the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had left a message for Bobby, telling him to call him instead of Dean. He'd been going through dozens of newspapers in the library, old and new, and coming close to nothing. Deciding it was time for a break from the eye-straining black and white pages, and having to fight the consistent urge to call and make sure Dean was okay, he stood and placed the papers back where they came from and headed outside.   
As he approached the car, his cell rang. He had it out in a flash, thinking, at first, that it might be Dean. But the number was coming from his recent entry of Agent McGee. “Hey,” he answered as he slipped into the driver seat.

“Uh, hi, Sam. This is Tim McGee. I got your text. What did you need?”

“Actually, I was hoping to ask you a couple questions about the uh...incident that happened at the Marine's house yesterday morning. We were wondering if you happen to remember...seeing anything or thinking anything unusual while you were...ya know...”

“Um...uh...” his voice seemed nervous on the other line. “Look, I uh...can't really talk about this over the phone. I can try and slip outta the office in maybe twenty minutes, but I can't be gone very long.”

“Okay, well that's fine. Perfect actually. I need to go check in on my brother and then I was gonna come back to the County library here on West Street.”

“That's right around the corner from here,” Tim said. “I can meet you there in twenty, no problem.”

“Great. Thanks, I appreciate it. See ya then,” he ended the call. It wasn't a long drive to the motel, but he wanted to stop and grab something to eat for Dean on his way. If it was food poisoning, he sure as hell wouldn't want a burger any time soon. In fact, the options for this were fairly slim. So, after crossing his fingers as he ran into the gas-stations mini-mart, he happened to find some saltines and antacids, and grabbed a few bottles of water on his way to check-out. 

The older woman at the register grinned at him as she eyed his items, “Morning sickness run?” she asked.

“What?” Sam cocked his head. “Oh! Oh...no. My brother's not feeling well. Sick stomach,” he furrowed his brow as he pulled out his wallet. Thankfully she was silent as she bagged the items. He handed her a ten and grabbed the bag before making his way back out to the car.

11 00 11 00 11

Tony shifted slightly as he came slowly back into consciousness. The first thing he noticed, before opening his eyes, was the smell. He knew the smell well. He was in the hospital...again. He snapped his eyes open and looked to the man beside his bed who seemed to have been aware that he'd been waking up.  
“Ducky!” Tony said as he pushed to sit up. “I- I can't be here.”

“Anthony, you must rest. Jethro brought you back here this morning. Don't you remember? You awoke with a fever and shortness of breath. You're being treated for-”

“No, Ducky,” he interrupted. “I don't have the charm. I'm not safe here. I need to be at Gibbs' house. It's safe there. Here is not safe!”

“Dear boy, you must calm yourself,” Ducky told him, placing a hand on his arm.

“You gotta believe me,” he told him in a lower tone; less agitated, but a tad more desperate. “I'm not just tryin' to get outta the hospital, Duck. Please...please.”

Ducky took a breath through his nose and considered what had been happening with the team over the past several days. Perhaps this wasn't simple paranoia. Or maybe it was, but possibly for good reason. “I'll speak with your doctors and see what I can manage.”

11 00 11 00 11

Sam let himself into the room, trying to keep quiet in the case that Dean might still be sleeping. But once the door was open, he could hear the television. He glanced around the room, noticing Dean wasn't in bed. “Dean?” he called as he shut the door behind him and walked further into the room. That's when he heard the faint sound of coughing coming from the bathroom. He walked up to the door and knocked softly. “Dean, you okay?”

“I-” he coughed again, “I'm okay, Sam.”

“I got you something for your stomach. Got some crackers and water, too,” he told him as he unpacked the bag onto the small table. “McGee called. He's gonna meet me up the street in...” he glanced at his watch, “In like five minutes.” Sam walked back to the bathroom door when he didn't get a response from his brother. “Dean, are you sure you're okay? I can stay...”

“Just go, Sammy. I'll be fine. Magnum P.I marathon comes on in like five minutes.”

Sam glanced over at the TV, then. He broke into a wide grin when the commercial called for a Spongebob marathon starting in five minutes. “Okay, then,” he humored him. “I'll be back soon. Don't get into too much nautical nonsense while I'm gone,” he said in a serious tone, right before he heard something thrown at the other side of the door, causing him to grin again.   
Dean listened as Sam's footsteps faded toward the exit and waited until he heard the door shut and the room fall silent aside from the sounds coming from the TV, before pushing himself up from where he'd been hunched over the sink. He turned on the cool water and splashed some on his sweaty face before turning it off again and reaching for a towel. He breathed carefully through his nose, trying desperately to avoid another coughing spell.  
He felt like crap, to put it mildly. His head hurt and his body felt defeated and weak. Pushing away from the sink, he made his way out of the bathroom and went straight to his bed and curled up at the foot of it. He just needed to rest...just for a minute...

11 00 11 00 11

McGee sat parked in the lot behind the library as he saw the Impala pull in beside him. He got out of the car and went over to the passenger side; Sam reaching over to push the door open out of courtesy before the Agent slipped into the seat. “Hey,” McGee said, somewhat uncomfortably as he shut the door.

“Hey. Thanks for coming,” Sam said.

“I'm actually relieved to get out of the office for a few,” Tim said, turning a bit to face him at an angle. “Filling out a report usually isn't this...confusing.”

“Guess I can only imagine,” Sam smirked.

McGee nodded slightly. “You said you wanted to know if I remembered anything...”

“Yeah. Tony said he saw some of the demon's memories while he was possessed. One thing we figured out is that it wasn't the same thing that possessed you. So if you remember anything at all-”

“Wait...what?” McGee's eyes widened a bit. “You mean there's another one out there?”

Sam scratched the side of his head, “Uh...yeah, we think so.” Tim closed his eyes briefly, swallowing down whatever fear was attempting to rise. “So anything you can recall...could potentially be really helpful for finding it.”

McGee opened his eyes again and focused on the man beside him. “He was laughing,” he told him. Sam gave him a questioning look. “The first thing that happened when the smoke came into me...I could hear him laughing. Like it was all some joke. And when he looked at the house, I saw these flashes; like movie flashbacks, ya know? Like clean cuts jumping around in time. First, I was seeing the women; the victims. He talked to them, but I don't know what he said. Then he'd laugh. Then uh...well it gets weird,” he furrowed his brow at Sam. But Sam looked seriously interested in whatever else he had to say, so he continued. “The flashes went somewhere else, like another time. A really long time ago; like ancient. Something out of a college Greek mythology book, almost. There were just short snippets... he was cutting some woman's hair while she was sleeping. Then there was one where he was high up off the ground, like looking down from a plane. I have no idea what any of this means. But the whole time, he was just...laughing.”

Sam looked away for a moment, trying to process the information and make some kind of sense out of it. “Is that everything?” 

Tim looked down as his eyes shifted for a moment. “Well...when you were speaking the Latin, there was this...weird memory that flashed in front of my eyes. I felt tied down, and there was a bowl high over my head, just hanging there. Something was dripping from it. When it touched my skin, it burned like fire. But that's it. He wasn't laughing anymore. And then he left... That's all I remember.”

“Okay,” he nodded. 

“Does that help?”

“It could. I've just gotta do some research; make a call.”

“Tony's back in the hospital,” he told him, and Sam looked at him with a furrowed brow. “Ducky said it's a reaction from the transfusion and that he should be okay. But do you think it's something else?”

“I dunno, but...he should go back to Gibbs' house,” Sam told him. “As soon as you can get him there. Right now, I'm not sure what these things are after, but Gibbs' house is safe. It's being protected.”

“What do you mean? The salt?”

“No...well, yeah. But no. It's...a long story, but you need to just trust me on this. All of you should be staying there when you're not at work.”

“I don't know that Gibbs would go for that,” McGee replied suspiciously. 

“If Tony had a chance to talk to him, he might understand. Dean talked to him about this last night.”

“Tony woke up sick,” Tim told him. “He might not have had the chance to talk to Gibbs.”

“McGee...Gibbs kinda scares the crap outta me a little. And that's a lot to say, coming from someone who does what I do for a living.”

“Not entirely surprising for you to feel that way...” McGee replied with a slight smirk.

“But you know him a lot better than I do. If there's some way...any way you can think to convince him that it's necessary...”

“Abby,” he said flatly. “I'll get her to talk to him. If anything, he'll at least amuse her.”

Sam let out a small sigh of relief, “Thanks, man. You have my number. Gimme a call if anything comes up. And let us know how Tony's doing, would you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

11 00 11 00 11

“Yeah. Gibbs,” Gibbs said as he answered his cell from where he sat at his desk.

“Jethro, I thought I should let you know I've brought Anthony back to your house.”

“They released him already?”

“More or less, yes.”

“What's that supposed to mean, Duck?”

“Tony seemed a bit...on edge at the hospital when he woke. Something about it not being safe at the hospital, and that your house was protected. He was quite adamant about getting back here. But he's sleeping quite soundly for the moment, and the doctors seemed to be alright with letting him go. I will, of course, stay to keep an eye on him and give him his medications. But he seemed a bit anxious to speak with you about something young Dean talked to him about last night.”

“He say anything to you about that?” Gibbs asked, glancing up as McGee walked into the bullpen and over to his own desk.

“He seems to be under the impression that your house is the only place any of us is safe.”

“Any of us? What's so special about my house, Ducky?” his words caused Tim to suddenly snap his attention to the conversation. This didn't go unrecognized by Gibbs.

“I'm not certain, Jethro.”

“Okay, well, call me if anything else comes up. I shouldn't be here past six,” he ended the call and looked over at Tim. “What is it, McGee?”

“Uh...Boss, I just got back from speaking with Sam,” he told him. “That thing you said about your house...apparently it's protected; whatever that means. He and Dean think we should all be there when we're not working.”

Gibbs raised his brows, “Did he elaborate?”

“No, boss. He said it was a long story. I'm guessing they'll fill us in at some point...”

Gibbs took a deep breath through his nose and slowly let it out as he wiped a hand down his face. “I need coffee...”

11 00 11 00 11

“Sounds like you could be dealing with the Loki demon,” Bobby said into his phone from where he sat at his desk where he had a book open in front of him. “Or at least, that's what it sounds like according to what the guy told you today. That bowl above his head...according to lore, he'd been bound as a punishment. The bowl contains a serpent's venom and it slowly dripped onto him causing him great pain.”

“But Loki is a god, according to lore,” Sam said on the other line.

“He's also a shape shifter. Now, I ain't sure this is what we're dealin' with, Sam. But if it is, there's a helluva lot more than just him. If he found a way here from wherever he was bein' held all these years, he'd have brought an army with him to make sure he doesn't go back. He's a dark prankster; does this crap for his own sick entertainment. You need to be careful on this one.”

“You think this demon we took out yesterday was actually working for him?”

“It's possible. Especially since he came around to see the handy-work. You and Dean think ya can handle this yourselves? I can come down there...”

“Actually...we've got some help here. According to Castiel, anyway.”

“Castiel knows about this?”

“Well, he knew something was up; just wasn't clear what, exactly. The help, though, is actually these NCIS agents we've been working with. Castiel said it was fate that we met them, and that Agent Gibbs' house will be discreetly protected; whatever that means.”

“Boy, I dunno what the hell Cas has got y'all into, but you better be careful. I know you say you trust these people, and that's nice an' all, but all it takes is one screw-up and one of 'em could turn you in at the drop of a hat.”

“They're not like that, Bobby. I'm telling you, they're different. And I think I'm gonna need them for the time being. Dean's got food poisoning or something. He's been at the motel all afternoon, sick. In fact, I should probably go back sure he hasn't thrown up his spleen or something.”

“You take care, Sam. I mean it; if you need more help, you call me, ya hear?”

“Yeah, Bobby. Thanks.”

11 00 11 00 11

 

Gibbs wasn't surprised when he and McGee are the last to arrive at his house. Abby and Tony were in the kitchen; Ziva and Ducky on the couch having tea. What surprised him most, was that the idea that his house was somehow safer than any of their homes, had been so easily accepted by all of them. But maybe it was just easier this way. They didn't have to think about it; analyze it and really, truly understand exactly what that might mean.   
Another surprise...well, not a surprise really; more like a revelation, was how comfortable they all seemed to be there. Like it was their home, or perhaps the home you go back to during holidays; the one you grew up in and have your old room with your old plastic race-car bed and team baseball trophy up on the shelf.   
He couldn't really explain it, but Gibbs felt somehow more at ease having them all there. It was frustrating, to say the least. He didn't really know whether or not the Winchesters' claim had any bearing. It was literally a story he heard on the grapevine; an indirect message that they hadn't even given him the common courtesy of saying to him, personally. But...he did suppose, on some level, that they were probably more comfortable talking to the others about this stuff.   
Gibbs silently joined his two favorites (though he wouldn't admit that to them out loud) in the kitchen, after pouring himself a cup of coffee. Giving Abby a look that immediately translated to 'give us a minute', he turned to Tony for an explanation that he hadn't had the chance to give him earlier...

11 00 11 00 11

Sam got a parking space directly in front of their motel room door and shut off the headlights before cutting the ignition. He locked up and swapped the car keys with the hotel key in his jacket pocket as he approached the door, and made an easy job of getting into the room. It was dark; the sun had gone down since he'd last been back. Dean hadn't bothered with the lights. Had it not been for the glow of the TV, Sam wouldn't have been able to see Dean's curled up form on the end of the bed.  
“Dean?” he flicked the lights on and realized his brother was shivering on top of the blankets; his arms wrapped tightly around himself. He quickly made his way to the bed as Dean started coughing, and he crouched down to see his face. “Oh god, Dean...” there was blood on his lip and swipes of it on his shirt sleeve, where he'd been undoubtedly coughing and wiping his mouth on it. “Why didn't you call me?” he asked as he pulled the blanket from the head of the bed and wrapped him in it.

“C-couldn't...get th-the ph-ph-phone,” he managed before going into another fit of coughing. 

Sam grabbed a box of tissues from the nightstand drawer and wiped the bloody sputum from Dean's lips. “Christ, Dean. You're lips are blue! You're sick as hell... You need to be in a hospital.”

“N-no, Sammy!” he said as loudly as he could. “I'm j-jus' c-cold. J-just n-need you to...” he clamped his eyes shut and held his breath in effort to fight against another coughing spell.

“You shouldn't be lying flat,” Sam said as he moved to help his brother up. Dean leaned, or rather fell, into his chest and his hands clutched onto Sam's shirt, effectively clinging to him as if the close presence of his brother would somehow make it all go away. “I shouldn't have left you alone for so long. I'm sorry...” he pulled Dean along with him so that Sam could sit back against the wall and let his brother lay upright against him.

“Not food-poisoning...is it,” Dean managed to rasp and small tremors ran through his body.

“No idea what this is, Dean. You should see a doctor.” Dean started coughing again and Sam held onto him tightly as he felt Dean's hands clench into tighter fists at his shirt. Dean's coughs turned into struggled, pained cries as his chest painfully spasmed in protest. “God, Dean, we need to get you some help.”

“Don' leave me, Sammy...” he said in a small voice. 

“I'm not gonna leave you,” Sam's heart sank in his chest. “Not gonna leave you alone again, Dean. Promise,” he pulled out his cell and dialed Castiel. After several rings, it went to voice mail and Sam cursed under his breath. “Cas, Dean's really sick and I dunno what the hell to do. So I'm taking him to the hospital unless you can get your ass here before we get there,” he ended the call.  
Sam wrapped Dean snugly and carried him out to the Impala, depositing him in passenger seat and strapping the seat belt over him before climbing into the driver seat. Dean's eyes were barely focused as he lowered his head to his window. Sam started the car and backed out of the spot before peeling out of the driveway onto the road. 

“Sorry I missed your call, Sam,” Castiel's voice rang from the back seat, startling Sam enough for him to jump.

“Damnit, Cas!” Sam yelled. “Something's wrong with Dean. I mean really really wrong and I can't fix it.”

“Why aren't you at Agent Gibbs' house?” Castiel inquired. “This wouldn't have happened.”

“What are you- look! Dean needs a hospital, unless you can heal him right now!”

“You need to take him to the house, Sam,” he told him. 

“He's sick! He needs a doctor! I dunno what he's got but he's coughing up blood. He could die, Cas!”

“It's the freakin' plague, Sammy...” Dean choked out. “I got the freakin'...plague...somehow...” he coughed, or more like gagged and choked.

“I don't understand...” Sam replied.

“Take him to the house so the others will understand,” Castiel told him.

“What?”

“Trust me, Sam. Everything will be okay if you take him to the house.” Sam glanced into the rear-view mirror, then glanced into the back seat, but Cas had gone. 

“Damnit!” Sam yelled before turning to the right to head toward Gibbs' house. As he glanced to Dean, he realized his brother was sleeping now. His breaths were short and shallow; wheezing. It was scaring the hell out of him. 

Once his pulled up in front of Gibbs' house, minutes later, he rushed out, scooping his brother in his arms and ran up the walk, just as Abby and Ziva opened the door to see what was going on. “Sam? What happened to Dean?” Abby asked, worriedly as he rushed in with him.

“I- I dunno,” he sounded lost, and there were tears welling in his eyes.

“Here, set him on the couch,” Ziva ushered. “I will get Ducky. He is upstairs.” 

As Sam lowered Dean carefully to the couch, Gibbs and Tony entered the living room. One look at Dean's face in the lamplight, and their breath caught. Sam looked at his brother with narrowed eyes. He looked worse now than the short while ago that they'd left the room. His eyes were sunken, ashen and the tip of his nose was as blue as his lips...and he wasn't breathing...  
“Dean?” Sam's eyes grew wide as he knelt beside him on the floor, shaking his brother's shoulders. “Dean!” tears streamed down his cheeks, then. “H- he said everything would be okay if we came here!” he shouted; despair clearly evident on his face...


	4. Chapter 4

Sam gripped the front of Dean's shirt and shook him, “Don't do this to me, Dean...” his voice was broken and his vision blurred by tears as his brother remained motionless. “No...no, Dean...please...” he turned his head in panic to the people surrounding them. “Can you do something? Can you help him?” his attention focused on the doctor. 

Suddenly, Dean's eyes shot open and he sucked in a breath; some color almost immediately returning to his face as he continued to breathe in short bursts. Sam couldn't speak as he watched the struggle, but soon Ducky was beside him, looking Dean over and listening to his heart and lungs.  
“S-Sammy...” Dean coughed.

“Right here, Dean,” Sam reached over to take his brother's hand and Dean latched onto it. The fear in Dean's eyes matched his own.

“Sam,” Gibbs voice sounded at Sam's other side and Sam turned to look up at him just as he began to crouch down beside him. “What happened?”

“I'm...not really sure,” he told him as he tried desperately to 'man-up', as if this man were none other than his late father, John. “He started getting sick this morning. I left him...left him at the motel so I could make some calls and do some research. When I came back, he was...curled up on the bed freezing and shaking; coughing up blood and wheezing.”

“Why didn't you take him to the hospital?” Gibbs asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Because they can do nothing for him,” a voice boomed from behind them and they all turned to see the man. 

“Who are you?” Ziva asked flatly, her gun out and aiming at the man's head.

“It's okay,” Sam held a hand toward her. “I know him. This is Cas.”

“How did you get in?” Gibbs asked. “Didn't hear the door open,” he asked as he stood and turned to face him.

“I didn't use the door,” Castiel told him. Before anyone could respond, he walked toward Dean. “He will be fine, now that he is here,” he told Sam as he reached out and placed two fingertips against Dean's forehead.

Dean was suddenly taking in impossibly deep breaths; his face having returned its normal shades. Sam moved to help him sit up, “Why the hell couldn't you have done that in the car, Cas?” Sam said through gritted teeth. 

“I had to wait until he was here,” he replied. 

“So they would understand, yeah,” Sam was noticeably aggravated. “He could've died before we got here!”

Castiel cocked his head and looked around the room. Ziva's gun had been holstered, but she still looked ready to attack if needed. McGee looked stunned but cautious where he stood beside her. Abby had unshed tears in her eyes as she looked back and forth between Dean and Castiel. Tony had an arm around her waist in effort to be of some comfort, although he looked just as shocked as McGee. Gibbs had a great poker face, but Castiel knew this already. Ducky was listening to Dean's heart and lungs again, this time with great confusion, and possible awe.   
Finally, Castiel's eyes settled on Sam's again. “I am sorry that this caused you such apprehension, Sam. But I had to wait until he was here, for another reason, as well. The illness was...unnaturally caused. A manifestation of something he was probably thinking about at the time he'd been cursed.”

“Cursed by what?” Sam inquired, glancing back at Dean who met his eyes then.

“A powerful demon,” he replied. “I had to wait until you were here because the curse will not work inside of this house. It lies dormant until he leaves here again.”

“You're sayin' if I walk out that door,” Dean began, “I get sick again?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied simply.

“Well what the hell are we supposed to do?” Sam asked. “We can't just stay here...”

“Dean will have to stay,” Castiel told him. “And you will require assistance in destroying the demon. Once he has been dealt with, the curse will be gone as well.”

Sam appraised his brother as Ducky stood, packing his stethoscope back into his bag. The doctor moved away from the couch and made his way toward the kitchen. Abby and McGee decidedly followed him, seeing the baffled look in the older man's eyes. Sam sat down on the couch beside his brother, turning slightly to face him at an angle, “You okay?”

“I am, now,” he replied uncomfortably, glancing up at Castiel for a moment before briefly meeting eyes with Ziva, then Gibbs, then back to his brother. “Did you find anything?” he asked him in a low voice.

“McGee told me what he'd remembered while he was possessed,” he told him, sharing a quick glance with Gibbs, who seemed slightly confused by the information. “Bobby thinks it might me the Loki demon.”

“He's right,” Castiel interjected, lowering himself to sit at Dean's other side. “And that is why it's imperative that you have help with this; why you were led here,” he glanced at Gibbs.

“What are you?” Gibbs narrowed his eyes. He wasn't oblivious. After all he'd seen in the past few days, it was hard to even attempt to come up with some logical explanation of what just happened. 

“I am an angel,” Castiel told him without missing a beat. Tony, who was standing beside Gibbs now, cast him a sideways glance, wondering how he might respond. But Gibbs, being at the top of Tony's list of people to drag to Vegas if the need ever arose to win at a high-stakes poker game, remained expressionless, except for a slight twitch under his right eyelid.

Tony looked at Castiel with a nervous smirk playing on his lips, “Aren't you supposed to have a harp or something? A halo and wings? Or does this fall under the same category as the demons... Possession?”

“This is my vessel,” the angel explained. “Though, unlike the demons, my vessel prayed for this. I am in him because he volunteered. But if this explanation and the demonstration I showed you earlier is not enough to convince you... Harps and halos, I do not have. Wings, however...” Castiel stood. The room filled with the sound of thunder and the flashing brightness of lightning, revealing the angel's wings, like shadows, as he extended them to their full span.  
Gibbs, out of instinct, threw his arm out across Tony's chest and backed them away a couple of steps. Moderately overwhelmed, and still a tad weak from his ordeal with the transfusion, Tony fell into the chair.  
Abby, Tim and Ducky, attention pulled by the noise and light, looked on in awe from the kitchen. Then, all at once, it was over. They found themselves rejoining the rest of them in the living room. McGee happened a glance at Ziva as he approached her side, and saw that her eyes were wet with unshed tears. This fact had him possibly just as taken back as the sight he'd seen only moments ago. But for her sake, he chose to look away for the time being, and he refocused his attention on the man they now knew was not just a man...  
“All of you in this room,” Castiel began, “Have suffered great trials in your lifetimes. Some of them, long buried; some more recent. But all have made you who you are and each of you chose the path that brought you together.”

“Cas...” Dean interrupted, and the angel looked at him in question. “Maybe this isn't the best time...”

“We are running out of time, Dean,” Castiel reminded him. 

“Running out of time for what?” Tony questioned. 

The angel looked at him for a moment before returning to his address. “There are...evils in this world-”

“Cut to the chase, Cas,” Dean interjected. “We can go over Demons101 later.”

Cas cocked his head for a moment before continuing, “The Loki demon has been made aware of Sam and Dean's presence in this area. I was hoping we would have more time before that happened. But it has become obvious that I miscalculated.” He turned to look directly at McGee, which made the agent slightly more nervous than he was only a moment ago. “The demon that possessed you is the same that has cursed Dean. It also explains how he became aware of their arrival here.”

“Wait,” Tony interrupted. Cas turned to look at him. “Does that mean McGee could be cursed, too?” Tim seemed to tense at the implication.

“He would have had some sign of it by now,” he replied. “But I doubt that he would be. Loki needed him as a vessel, and therefore wouldn't have had the need to do such a thing.”

“Loki was a god,” Sam explained. “He would do some pretty sick things for the sake of his own amusement. In this instance, he's apparently causing some kind of twisted hypochondriac-like curse; whatever Dean happened to be thinking about at the time, started happening to him for real.”

“And what was it you were thinkin' about?” Tony asked Dean.

Sam decidedly answered when Dean's eyes darted around, “He was doing some research on the Pneumonic plague.”

“I wasn't tryin' to snoop into your personal business,” Dean defended. “I mean...that's exactly... what I was doing. So, I'm sorry...'cause I know we told you not to snoop around in ours. But I was kinda...interested to know what all of you were about...”

“Dean has trust issues,” Castiel said flatly.

“Wha-”

“It's true,” Sam said. “But...we kinda both do.”

“Understandably so,” Castiel added.

“I mean, take Cas, for example,” Sam said. “He's an angel, and there are still some issues with trust there.”

“Well there's not exactly an abundance of personal profile info to look up online about him,” Dean added.

“He also has boundary issues,” Castiel said just as flatly.

“Now just hold on!” Dean defended.

“The point is that you should not be offended,” Cas told the agents. “What he was searching for were answers to why you had accepted him.” When all eyes fell on Dean, his eyes were closed in a grimace, as if trying, by sure will, to make the whole situation disappear. Like a small child playing hide and seek, thinking that if he couldn't see you, you couldn't see him. 

The sound of McGee clearing his throat caused Dean to peek open an eye. “I uh...guess it's only fair, then, that I should confess...I kinda did some checking on the two of you...”

“Timothy McGee!” Abby yelled, furiously.

“Very very discretely,” Ziva added.

“Both of us...no official searches. Just informational; news clippings and stuff like that,” he vowed.

“Tim, you promised!” Abby narrowed her eyes at him.

“It's okay,” Dean interjected, and all eyes fell back on him. “I mean hey- you haven't turned us over to the FBI or anything, so I guess you really do trust us, right?” he grinned, nervously.

“Well, none of the charges really made much sense,” Tim admitted. “That and...technically, you're dead.” Before anyone could inquire as to what that meant, Castiel decided to resume speaking.

“Now that everyone seems to be at ease,” he began, “I feel it necessary to explain why you've been placed in the path with Sam and Dean.”

“He wants you to join forces with us, so to speak,” Dean explained. 

“The problem needs to be remedied immediately,” Castiel elaborated. “Loki was freed from his bindings, by an unknown number of demonic forces. They, too, need to be destroyed and Loki put back where he belongs. There is more to all of this than tricks and amusement. Something big has been planned, and we must work together to stop it, or there will be massive consequences. We fear that if they are not stopped quickly, this will only be the beginning.”

“What kind of consequences?” Gibbs asked.

“Destruction; death...of millions,” Castiel replied. 

“'Nother day in paradise,” Dean smirked. 

“So how do we stop him?” Tony inquired.

“Loki was bound to the gods by the entrails of one of his sons,” Castiel replied. 

“Charming,” Dean commented.

“You must find where it is being held; most likely by one of those who freed him. If you can do this, I will be able to repair the binding. Then the curse should be lifted,” he looked at Dean.

“Should?” Sam questioned.

“How do we even begin to look for them?” Dean asked the angel.

“In the same way you found the last, there will be signs. In the meantime, I will resume searching, myself. For now, though,” he turned to glance over the team, “You should all rest. You have been through much.” His gaze settled on Tony and he moved toward him slowly. “I...apologize for not having done this sooner,” he told him before touching the agent's forehead, much as he did to Dean. Tony blinked and shuddered as he felt something akin to a jolt run through his body. Castiel considered him for a long moment. “You are-” he paused in his words, narrowing his eyes in thought. “You will be a great asset,” he decided. Tony swallowed, unsure of what that meant. Then he blinked, and the angel was gone. 

He jumped to his feet, looking all around just as the rest of his team was doing. “What the hell just happened?” he asked no one in particular.

“You probably won't need that anymore,” Sam told him with a small smile, indicating the bandage on Tony's neck.

Furrowing his brow, Tony reached up to his neck, immediately realizing the pain from his wound was gone, and pulled off the bandage that covered it. Blindly, he felt the smooth, undamaged skin there, and Gibbs even examined it himself.

“Dude,” Dean smiled. “You just got touched by an angel.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Gibbs, are you sure?” Abby looked at him with bright, yet empathetic eyes. They were standing with Ziva in the preserved bedroom of his late daughter, Kelly. 

“If everyone's plannin' on stayin' here, I've gotta open up some more room, don't I?” When she still seemed unsure, he took a step forward, placing his hands on her arms before he kissed her forehead. “I'm happy to let you use it. I know you'll take care of it. That is, if you two don't mind sharing the bed?” he glanced at Ziva as he dropped his arms.

“I do not mind,” Ziva replied. “However, I could sleep on the floor if necessary.”

“It's a queen-sized bed, Ziva,” Abby argued. “It'll be totally fine,” she smiled, lightly.

“Extra blankets in the hall closet,” Gibbs told them as he turned to leave the room. He closed the door as he exited and met up with Ducky in the hall.

“Jethro, I must insist on taking the couch,” the older man argued.

“Duck, I told ya to use my room,” Gibbs pressed. “If there's one person I'm not stickin' on the couch, it's you.”

“Now, now,” Ducky chuckled. “There's no reason to suggest that I'm unable to stay the night on one's couch. I've taken to falling asleep in the armchair in my study at least two nights a week; albeit not on purpose. I do manage to perform my duties with a minimal amount of cricks, the following day.”

“Keep arguin', Duck, and I'll bunk you with McGee,” he smirked. They happened to be standing outside the guestroom where McGee had been rifling through his overnight bag, and the agent looked up at the mention of his name.

“Uh, boss...” Tim said and the two older men turned. “I thought Tony was bunking with me?” he questioned with a furrowed brow.

Gibbs looked back at Ducky, “Runnin' outta bed-space. You wanna fight over who gets stuck in the middle? Or ya wanna take my room? Those are your choices.”

The older man narrowed his eyes for a moment at the stubborn man before him, then glanced at McGee, before conceding. “Very well, Jethro. But only for tonight. We'll need to figure something out for...however much longer we'll be here.”

McGee looked relieved, as far as Gibbs could tell. The poor kid probably thought Gibbs had been serious about the three of them sharing the bed. He couldn't help but to smirk before turning to head downstairs.   
Tony and Dean were in the kitchen at the table, each having a beer and discussing, apparently, something amusing, as their laughter sounded from the room. But it was obvious they were at least attempting to try and keep the noise to a minimum. Gibbs decided to join them.  
“Hey, boss,” Tony greeted as he came into view. “I was just tellin' Dean how severely allergic McGee is to poison ivy,” he grinned.

Gibbs smirked as he opened the fridge to fetch a beer, “Still got that video?”

“Sadly, no. That phone was destroyed...by you, if I remember correctly,” Tony reminded him. “Hard to tell, though. So many cell phones...all with unique means to demise.”

“I take it you're feelin' better,” Gibbs said as he turned a chair and straddled it to sit at the end of the table.

“More than better,” Tony told him. “I don't remember feeling this energetic and...lack of any aches and pains, in...well I can't even remember.”

“Cas's got magic fingers,” Dean smirked, then immediately furrowed his brow. “And I don't mean that in the completely gay way it sounded.”

“Sam hit the hay?” Gibbs asked.

“Yeah. He had a...rough evening,” Dean seemed like he felt to blame for that. Both Gibbs and Tony picked up on that.

“You plannin' on stayin' up much longer?” Gibbs addressed them both.

“Well, I was asleep most of the day,” Dean said.

“Yeah, me too. No way I can go to bed just yet,” Tony agreed. “And I'm not exactly rushing to bunk with McGoo,” he squinted.

“Good,” Gibbs said. “Then you can help me out,” he stood and headed toward the basement door. Dean and Tony shared a questioning glance before standing to follow him.

11 00 11 00 11

The next morning, despite how late he'd stayed up, Gibbs was awake and brewing coffee in the kitchen as Ducky sat at the table with a cup of tea. Sam had come out with his laptop just after Gibbs had gotten up; but he'd been up before then, simply waiting for the living room to be freed up so he could type away on the keyboard without waking Dean.  
Alas, once Sam had set the computer on the coffee table and powered it up, he heard the sink running in the bathroom off of their room. “You drink coffee, Sam?” Gibbs asked, and he looked up to see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Uh...yeah, sure. Thanks,” he stood and made his way over to the pot. “I heard you guys up pretty late last night,” he said as he poured himself a cup of the steaming liquid. “Were you working on something in the basement?”

“Had to get those two down off their 'angel-high' somehow,” he smirked. Sam managed a grin as he turned and leaned back on the counter. “We'll all need to head in to work, soon. Tony's got the day off; not that he needs it, now. But that works out okay, so you don't need to be out on your own.”

Sam shook his head, “I'm not gonna leave Dean here alone; not after what happened yesterday.”

“I'm fine, Sammy,” Dean said as he strolled into the kitchen toward the coffee pot. “Cas said, as long as I'm in this house, the stuff is dormant, remember? Trust me, I do not have plans to test that theory out by leaving,” he pulled a mug from the cupboard and helped himself to the brew.  
It was in that moment that they heard a frightened yelp coming from Tony and McGee's room upstairs, followed by a loud thud. Mere seconds passed before Gibbs, Dean and Sam shared surprised glance and took off toward the stairs...

Just a minute earlier...

Tony shifted, snuggling deeper into his pillow and tugged the blanket more securely around himself. Blanket...that...wait, that's not right, he thought. He cracked his eyes open and looked down at his chest where he was holding...a hand?   
A few more seconds, and his brain finally caught up with him, causing him to yelp and twist his body away from the presence he suddenly became aware of behind him. He fell with a thud, unceremoniously, to the floor, and immediately pushed to stand.   
McGee, by this time, had dismounted the other side and was standing there in the same amount of pure, unadulterated shock.  
“What the hell were you doing, McGay?!” Tony said, as quietly as he could manage to yell.

“Me?!” Tim retorted. “You were holding my hand!”

“You had your arm around me!”

“I was asleep!”

“So was I!”

Suddenly, the door was thrown open. Ziva and Gibbs had their weapons drawn and pointed into the room; a memory suddenly flashing before Tony's eyes. “What happened?” Gibbs asked.

“Iguana!” Tony called out, not looking away from McGee's still shocked face. Gibbs' body relaxed, then, and he lowered his weapon.

“Iguana?” Ziva questioned, looking up at Gibbs.

“Come on,” he pulled her out of the room. “False alarm,” he told her and the Winchesters, who'd been ready behind them. 

Once they were out of earshot, Tony's eye twitched. “That never happened,” he told Tim in a hushed voice.

“Agreed.”

11 00 11 00 11

Sam, Dean and Tony headed down to the basement after the rest of the household headed off to work. “Looks like Gibbs stayed up after we crashed,” Tony said as they reached the bottom. 

“What is all this?” Sam asked as he looked around. He'd been down here before. But now one of the work benches had been cleared and replaced with the contents of their trunk; their arsenal. In the middle of the room, two hammocks had been put together.

“Well, we put together the rigs for these last night,” Dean said. “But Gibbs must've gotten them all put together after we decided to call it a night,” he plopped down into one of them. “Ahhh...this is awesome.”

“These are...for us?” Sam approached the empty hammock.

“Well yeah,” Tony smirked. “But if ya don't like it, you're more than welcome to bunk with McGee.”

“No, this is...this is great,” Sam said as he sunk down into the hammock. “I just...why would he do this?”

“Hey, we did it too,” Dean pointed to Tony and himself.

“You know what I mean,” Sam cocked his head.

“'Cause we're a team,” Tony told him in all seriousness. Dean and Sam looked up at him where he was leaning back against the workbench. “You should be flattered, really. Gibbs never made me a hammock, and I've known him for a decade, now,” he smirked. “But seriously...off all the cops and feds you've ever run into, Gibbs would be the least likely to trust you. Especially so soon after you came here. In fact, if I didn't know this house was effectively demon-proof, I'd be breakin' out the holy water and chanting out the Latin, myself. But he trusts you, and that means a lot, coming from him.”

“Nice to know I'm not the only one with trust issues,” Dean glanced at Sam.

“It's not a bad thing,” Tony said. “Gets lonely, sometimes...not being able to trust many people.”

“But it keeps you alive,” Dean added.

“There's that,” Tony replied.

“So Gibbs trusts us,” Sam concluded. “So he built us our own room, basically?”

“Well, that and Ducky doesn't like takin' the boss's room away from him,” Tony smirked. “You two get kicked down to the musky basement; Ducky gets the first-floor guestroom and Gibbs gets his room back, which leaves me an open couch so I don't have to share with McGeek,” an over-exaggerated shiver ran through him. 

“Hey, we've been in motels muskier than this basement,” Dean defended. “And definitely a lot less sanitary.”

“Yeah, this is... like you said, I'm flattered,” Sam said. “I didn't think Gibbs liked me very much.”

“Hey, I said he trusted you,” Tony told him. “Never said he liked you. If he does happen to like you, you won't know about it.” At the sight of Sam's slight apprehension, Tony smiled reassuringly. “I wouldn't worry about it too much. It'll just give you a headache. Gibbs'll have your back, whatever it is we need to do here.” His expression turned serious once more. “It's not just the Marine code and the 'Gibbs' rules'. Just who he is. Just gotta trust him, too.”

“You trust him,” Sam said; more of a confirmation than a question.

“With my life,” Tony replied without hesitation. 

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs had been keeping busy going through the day's newspapers, looking for something that might warrant a visit by his team; including one of its newest members. But his attention had been pulled on several occasions to the agent sitting at the desk across from his.   
McGee, probably every five minutes on the dot, had religiously checked for the amulet around his neck. Though hidden under his shirt, he could feel its ridges and grip it, affirming its presence. Then he'd drop his hand back to the keyboard and resume his online news-searching.   
Ten of these; ten times Gibbs saw him do this. Before he could do it again, he set the paper down and took off his glasses. “McGee,” his voice sounded sternly enough that even Ziva's head shot up to look in Tim's direction as if he'd been doing something horribly wrong. 

“Yeah, boss?” McGee's face paled slightly, going through a mental checklist to see if he'd somehow failed to do something he'd been told.

Gibbs stood and moved around his desk, crooking his finger at the agent, “My office.” Gibbs walked out of the bullpen toward the elevator. Exchanging a quick and fearful glance at Ziva, McGee hurried to catch up with him; slipping into the shaft before the doors could close. “Something's on your mind,” Gibbs said. 

He said. Which meant he knew. “Uh...what makes you think that?” Tim questioned.

“Besides you tuggin' on that charm like it's gonna disappear? You think something's gonna happen?”

“Boss...” McGee let out a nervous breath. “That thing used me before. It could do it again. If this falls off, like Tony's did...” he swallowed as the recollection of that night flashed in his mind freshly. “I- I can't do it. Can't have him in my head again. Boss, I don't wanna be responsible for any of you getting hurt.”

“You keep obsessing over that thing around your neck and you'll end up makin' a mistake out there,” he told him, firmly, moving to stand close before him. 

“Losing the charm would be making a mistake!” he defended. 

“You gotta stop thinkin' you're a target in this, McGee. You were a convenient body for that thing, at the time. Same goes for DiNozzo. Stop thinkin' the moment that thing should fall off, there's somethin' waiting around to take control over you.”

Tim's eyes darted around as he processed that information. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was just being paranoid. But...on the other hand, Gibbs didn't really know much more about this stuff than McGee did. Maybe he was wrong. In the meantime, however, he needed to regain some level of confidence; trust in the fact the his boss at least trusted what he was saying to some extent.  
Tim met Gibbs' eyes and nodded, “Maybe you're right, boss.”

“If you're so damn worried, go ask Abby where to go to get the damn thing tattooed on,” he said before pressing the button to reopen the door. Seeing as they hadn't pressed a button to move, the doors opened immediately back at their floor. Gibbs walked out toward the bullpen, but McGee stayed behind with intent to go down to the lab...

11 00 11 00 11

“Dude, there is no freakin' way I can stay cooped up in this place without cable!” Dean growled from where he sat on the couch as he flipped the channels on the television. “I'd rather-” he stopped mid-sentence, for obvious reasons, and resigned his argument.

“You'd rather what, Dean?” Sam asked, sarcastically, from the kitchen, raising a brow in his direction.

“Never mind... But that reminds me; we left all our stuff back at the motel.”

“I'll go get it here in a minute,” Sam said as he finished off a glass of water.

“You're not goin' out there alone, Sam,” Dean protested. “Not with God knows how many cracked out demons are out there with an APB on our asses.”

“So, I'll go with him,” Tony walked in through the basement door. “I need to swing by my place, anyway. Pick up some stuff; DVD player, some movies...ya know; the essentials,” he smirked. “Gibbs doesn't have cable.”

“I noticed,” Dean threw the remote to the coffee table, defeated. 

“Whoa, hey hold on,” Sam motioned to the TV and grabbed for the remote, turning up the volume.

“Dude, it's the news,” Dean scoffed. “Some kinda dog fight, at that. Who sees a couple of dogs fighting and calls the local news?”

“Dean, just sshh,” he held up a hand. Dean shared a glance with Tony, who seemed equally confused.

“Citizens and local authorities are baffled as to how two gray wolves arrived in the middle of the metro-DC area this morning,” the young, female African-American news reporter stated. “No local zoos or animal shelters claim to be missing any animals, but sources say that this particular type of wolf isn't indigenous to the area; especially not in the middle of the city.”  
The screen shot changed to footage of the wolves. “Due to their behavior and the possible endangerment to the public, animal control is preparing to attempt to sedate the animals and have them tested for any serious medical conditions or diseases, before relocating them and releasing them back into the wild.  
“Locals say the wolves were viciously fighting; a rare occurrence, officials tell us, as they seem to be on their own and not with a pack.”

“Sam...what's with the sudden interest in canines?” Dean asked.

“Cas said to look for signs,” Sam looked at his brother, then to Tony. “Loki had children.”

“Yeah, well...weren't they a wolf, a snake and a half-beautiful, half-cheesy-horror-movie chick?”

“You actually looked this up?” Sam raised a skeptical brow.

“You think I've got anything better to do lately?”

Sam looked at him for a moment, then shrugged in acceptance. “Yeah. He had three famous children. But he also had two children with the woman who took care of him after he was bound. They were wolves. And they fought each other to the death,” he settled a glare on Dean that said, 'You understand it yet?'

“You think these are Loki's kids?” Dean glanced at the screen. “Just happened to drop into the DC area and have a throw-down...which each other?” Sam shrugged and looked back at the TV.

The sound of a gunshot, from the tranquilizer gun rang out. The cameraman seemed to lose his grip and the view on the screen would've made McGee seasick. But the reporter's voice could still be heard before he recovered.   
“The shot seems to have frightened the dogs!” she said urgently. “They've taken off running. There's no way to tell whether or not the marksman actually hit one of them with the dart. We'll have to go to our news chopper where Mark Adenberg is currently in the air!”   
The screen switched over to the chopper-ready reporter. He looked a lot younger; more daring as he crouched by the open side-door of the chopper. His hair was blowing around slightly by the force of wind, despite the gallons of gel that had to have been in those locks. The orange-tinted protective glasses weren't altogether unappealing on him, but the earphones made him look a step away from an ewok. “Thanks, Karen. This is Mark Adenberg reporting live from our news chopper over the metro-DC area. We're currently following pursuit of two gray wolves that, at this time, have been considered dangerous. We're asking that you please stay in your homes or cars, especially if you see these animals. And in that case, please contact the number on your screen immediately.  
“Looking down, we can see them running practically side-by-side,” The camera panned down a bird's eye view to the wolves. “Just minutes ago they seemed to be pretty hellbent on attacking one another, but right now they seem more determined to get out of the lime light. We can't be sure where they're headed, but it certainly isn't to the hills. In fact, they're heading into some residential areas right now.”

“I dunno where their destination is,” Tony said. “But I know where they're heading toward. They stay on that course and it'll take them right into Arlington...”

11 00 11 00 11

 

“You really wanna get it tattooed, McGee?” Abby asked again, excitedly.

“I think I have to,” he replied. “After knowing what we know, now, how can I not?”

“Okay. Well, I happen to be friends with an awesome tat-artist. She can totally do house-calls. For me, at least. Tony mentioned that he was thinking about getting it done, too.”

“He did?” Tim furrowed a brow. “Well, I guess that makes sense...more so for him... Okay, I should get back upstairs before Gibbs gets pissed.”

*~.~*

Gibbs took a long drink from his cup of coffee just before his cell rang; McGee hurrying into the bullpen and to his desk as he retrieved it. “Yeah. Gibbs.”

“Boss, you should turn the TV on to ZNN,” Tony's voice rang on the other line.

“McGee. News,” he motioned to the television and Tim immediately turned the set on.

“I know this isn't gonna make much sense yet, but we need to follow this, according to Sam.”

Gibbs walked to the set and sat on the edge of Tony's desk to watch the report. “We're not animal control, DiNozzo.”

“Yeah, boss, I know. But there's more to this than what we're seeing. And they're heading straight toward a base in Arlington, so it gives us jurisdiction.”

“This have somethin' to do with what we talked about yesterday?” he questioned.

“Yeah. Possibly. I could meet you out there, boss...whoa, did you see that?”

Gibbs did see it, though he wasn't quite sure what it was. The wolves seemed to have vanished, leaving the chopper reporter baffled and confused, and the cameraman frantically searching the ground below for the missing dogs. “Yeah.”

“Boss? I think we should go...”

“Go where, DiNozzo? Looks like they're gone.” Then his desk phone began to ring. “Gonna have to call ya back,” he told Tony, and ended the call as he walked back to his desk and picked up the phone. “Gibbs.”  
McGee glanced away from the screen to Ziva who had approached the space beside him, and now they were looking at Gibbs. “We're on it,” he said into the phone and hung up. “Grab your gear. Call Ducky,” he told McGee. “Tell him to meet us in Arlington. Fort Myer. We've got a dead Marine.” Gibbs pulled out his cell again after grabbing his gun and badge from his desk drawer, and he dialed Tony. 

“Boss?”

“Dead Marine at Fort Myer. They said it looks like he was torn apart...by wild dogs...”


	6. Chapter 6

“Just go, Sam,” Dean argued as his younger brother continuously hesitated to walk out the door with Tony. “They need at least one of us out there with them for this, and obviously I can't do it.”

Sam clenched his jaw. His eyes darted nervously somewhere beside his brother's face as he absentmindedly clutched the strap on the duffel bag filled with weapons that was slung over his shoulder. Finally he let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. But you're keeping your phone with you this time. And you're calling me if you even so much as sneeze. Got it?” He picked up Dean's phone and shoved it in his hand.

“Yes, mother dearest,” he scoffed, sticking the cell into his pocket. “And I'll give Bobby a call; let him know what's happening. I might as well be useful in some fashion,” he smirked.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked over at Tony who was standing in the open front door, waiting. After looking back at Dean once more, he nodded and turned to walk out with Tony. “Guess we're taking your car,” Tony said. “Mine's still at work.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Sam said as they approached the Impala. He opened the trunk and placed his duffel in before slamming it shut again. The two of them piled into the front seats and were soon on the road.

After a minute of awkward silence, Tony spoke up. “Hey, why do you suppose Dean was the only one cursed? Did he do something wrong?”

Sam glanced at him, then back to the road. “Wrong? I don't think so. Well, not lately anyway,” he smirked. “But the only way to really narrow it down would be to figure out what he might have done that the rest of us didn't. Or...possibly what the rest of us did and he didn't. I dunno that he'd have ended up being targeted specifically; not in this case anyway.”

“Ya think it could've had something to do with the fact he was digging into my personal files?” he asked in a voice that Sam could only recognize as something akin to guilt. “Ya think there's like... a curse on my files?”

“No, I doubt that,” Sam had to laugh, and he glanced briefly at him again, noticing he seemed to relax a bit. “So, uh...Dean told me about the plague story,” he began. “That had to be rough. You'd never know it to look at you. I mean...you almost died.”

“Heh,” he let out a small laugh. “Yeah, definitely no bragging scars to show the ladies,” he wagged his brows in a fashion that reminded him of his brother in such a way that it made him smile. “But I'd never sign up to do it again, that's for damn sure.” His expression sobered a bit as he looked out front. “I'm just sorry Dean read enough about it to have it manifest like that in him.”

“It's not your fault, man,” Sam furrowed his brow. “He went snooping, and deeper than he needed to.”

“Does he do that often?” Tony narrowed his eyes.

“What? Read something besides skin mags when he doesn't have to?” he smirked, glancing over at him. “Nah...usually that's my job. Dean only does that stuff if he wants to. And that's not very often.”

“So he really found it that hard to believe we trusted you?”

“Well...it never hurts to double-check,” Sam defended. “But honestly?” he shifted a bit in his seat. “I think he was more fascinated by the fact that real families actually exist, outside of blood.”

A strange silence took over the inside of the car for a moment. “You guys have known us less than a week, read some stuff online, and came to that conclusion already?” 

“It's not hard to see.” Sam clenched his jaw when he turned back to the road. “You of all people should understand how much easier it is to spot the things you never thought you could have, or wished you could, but didn't.” He furrowed his brow when he finished the sentence. “Did that make any sense?”

“I think I get what you're sayin', yeah,” Tony replied.

Sam nodded, glad that he didn't need to explain further. And Tony looked out his window as he let the thought process through his head. It was true, even though he hadn't really consciously put it together before. The infamous two-year mark that had him relocating after every job before Gibbs found him; Tony was pretty quick to realize when things were just going to end badly, or unsatisfying. He'd even given each place the courtesy of sticking around as long as he had.   
But he'd known, almost from the start, that working with Gibbs was exactly what he needed...exactly what he wanted. It didn't take long to idolize the man; the very picture he could only have wished for as a father-figure; a mentor. More than that... There wasn't a category, really.   
Abby, McGee, Ziva and Ducky...they were all bonuses; something he never thought he'd luck out on. Being an only child in reality, he'd never known the joys and pains that came from sibling-rivalry and the bond that evens things out, ten-fold. Abby and Ziva, like his sisters, falling on two widely divided points on some insane spectrum scale. They were his tormentors and often times, his strength.   
McGee, his brother-from-another-mother...thank God for that...for Tim's sake, anyway. Tim was, and will always be his Probie. No matter how much greater an agent he became, McGee would always be his little bro; he'd always have the kid's back. And the fact that he let him be that to him-- accepted Tony as his mentor-- meant so much more than he could even explain in words. And more, really, than he was willing to admit.  
Ducky...the eccentric uncle to all of them. More like the Zamboni to their chaotic hockey-rink of life; he was always there to smooth the ice when things got rough between the family.  
The family...Tony's family...

 

11 00 11 00 11

“My God,” Ducky said as he and Palmer entered the bunker. The room was a sorry display; pieces of flesh scattered about unceremoniously. For the first time in a long while, the M.E wasn't exactly sure where to begin.  
Gibbs, Ziva and McGee had arrived only moments before them. They'd managed to get gloves on and equipment ready, but not much more had transpired. McGee stood in one corner; camera ready in his hands. But he seemed to be concentrating a bit more on not allowing himself to become overwhelmed with the urge to run out and vomit. Ziva was outside talking to the officer that found the body. Gibbs had a notepad in his hand, ready to take notes, but not quite able to figure out where to start.  
The flash of McGee's camera seemed to jolt everyone into motion. Ducky approached the larger portion of the body as Palmer stayed in the doorway, unsure where to place their equipment. Gibbs decidedly approached the M.E. “Well, there's no doubt this happened recently,” Ducky said. “No more than twenty to thirty minutes ago. What's left of this unfortunate Marine's torso is still warm.”

“Uh, boss?” McGee called out and Gibbs looked over across the room where the agent had just snapped a photo. “Might wanna take a look at this. Looks like bloody paw-prints leading out this way.”

Gibbs made his way, careful to avoid any blood on the floor, toward his agent. Ziva reentered the room in that moment as Gibbs crouched down beside the evidence McGee pointed out. He followed the prints to a closed set of green-painted steel doors, and he stood to push them open, but found they were locked. “Was this door open before we got here?” he turned to Ziva.

“The officer stated that the room has not been touched,” she replied. “He walked in after he heard the Lieutenant screaming. But by the time he entered the room, he was...as we are seeing him now. He immediately left and shut down all access to and from the building.”

“No one saw anyone or anything leave here?” Gibbs asked. 

She shook her head, “No.”

Gibbs looked back down at the floor where the prints led to the door. Then he proceeded to unlock the door, looking up at her as he pulled out his gun. She followed his lead and approached his side.  
“Y-you think it...they could be in there?” McGee stuttered. 

Gibbs looked at him without replying, then pushed open the door, aiming his weapon inside. “Clear,” Ziva yelled as she searched the small room that seemed to serve only as a foyer before the actual back entrance to the bunker. When she turned around, Gibbs was looking at the floor again.

“No prints,” he said. Ziva looked down and realized what he'd seen. The bloodied trail stopped at the door they'd just opened. They didn't turn around; didn't continue past the threshold. They'd just ended there. 

Gibbs looked up at her and she narrowed her eyes, not having anything to suggest, at the moment. He turned to Ducky, “Can you tell if dogs did this, Duck?”

“Well, I'll have to get him back to my lab to be sure,” he replied. “But from what I can see right now, I'd say that this man did, indeed, meet his demise at the hands of...well, the jaws of more than one dog, yes. And by the look of things, I'd say their bellies have carried off quite a bit of his insides.”

They heard a groan come from McGee and glanced briefly at him. The junior agent was trying to brave through it; continue despite the nausea threatening him. “Go get some air, Tim,” Gibbs told him. Without a moment to spare to even question the kind gesture, McGee nodded and hurried out of the bunker. 

“Do you believe that the wolves we saw on the news did this?” Ziva asked Gibbs.

“Doesn't seem possible,” he replied. “It was just seconds after they lost sight of them before I got that call. No security cameras in here; nothin' setting foot in here from the cam outside. I don't get it.”

“You do not believe in coincidences,” she reminded him. He raised his brows at her, but before he could respond, Tony's voice sounded from the doorway.

“I could tell it'd be bad by the green written all over McMuffin's face,” the senior field agent said as he and Sam entered the bunker. “Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to tell him to suck it up,” he said as he scanned the room and grimaced.

“The presence of the younger Winchester leads me to believe there's more to this case than you happened to lead on,” Ducky said to Gibbs.

“Maybe so,” Gibbs replied. “Paw prints end here,” he told Sam as they approached where he stood. 

“As though they simply vanished into thin air,” Ziva said.

“Or they were picked up and carried out,” Gibbs added. “But there's nothin' on the security tape.”

“Is there anything missing?” Sam asked. They all looked at him in question.

“You think the wolves robbed the place?” Tony raised his brows. Sam cocked his head and gave him a look of infliction.

“The only thing missing,” Ducky said, “Seems to be a great deal, if not all of this man's intestinal tract. Unless, of course, it was dragged elsewhere. But the odds are that it was consumed.”

“Pleasant...” Tony grunted. 

“The entrails...” Ziva said as her eyes darted around at nothing in particular. “Castiel said that Loki was bound by the entrails of one of his children,” she looked up at Gibbs, who in turn, looked to Sam. The hunter's lips were pursed and his face set in a mix of affirmation and aimless determination.

“So this is what we thought it was,” Tony confirmed. “But what do we do now?”

“Find everything we can on the vic,” Gibbs said. “I wanna know where he's been, who he knew, what he ate for breakfast every morning. This wasn't a random hit; they went outta their way to get to him.”

“And the fact that this guy was a Marine,” Sam added, “Put it in your jurisdiction. I don't think that's a coincidence either”

Gibbs nodded in agreement as he thought it over in his head. “Let's help Ducky get this bagged up, then get the hell outta here.”

11 00 11 00 11

“Yeah, Bobby, that's what he said,” Dean talked into his cell as he paced the living room, glancing out the window now and then to see if the Impala had pulled up yet. “I dunno what it means. Why do you think I'm askin' you?”

“Boy, you sure you don't want me to come up there?”

“I'd freakin' love for you to come up here, Bobby,” his voice sounded a lot more needy than he'd intended. “But there's barely room for the eight of us already here. Hell, Gibbs made Sam an' me hammocks. Built the frames and everything...” he felt every pore in his body relax when he saw Sam pull up in the Impala.

“Ya think I can't pack a cot into my van? You might need me on this one, Dean. You're down for the count, right now. Worried to all hell about your brother, from what I can hear in your tone. These people you're workin' with might have good intentions and good hearts, but they don't know squat about huntin'.”

“Well, we're just gonna have to teach 'em,” Dean replied.

“My thoughts, exactly. So lemme come up there. Way I see it, the more teachers, the faster they'll learn. We can split 'em into groups.”

“I don't wanna put you in the middle of this.”

“Middle of what, Dean? Huntin'? Didja forget I'm a damn hunter?”

“Yeah, well so am I, and look at me! If I step foot outta this house, the plague wreaks havoc in me again. And if we don't stop this thing...I'm freakin' screwed!”

“That's my point. Just admit it or suck it up or whatever the hell you need to do to agree to lettin' me help out. 'Cause I ain't takin' no for an answer, here.”

As Sam came in the door, Dean felt all the previous tensions leave him and he stopped his pacing. “Lemme talk to Gibbs; his house, after all. If it's cool with him, it's cool with me, Bobby.” He ended the call on that note and looked up at Sam. “You okay?”

Sam furrowed a brow and cocked his head a bit, “Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?”

“I dunno, Sam,” he replied, slightly frustrated as he sunk down onto the couch. “Maybe 'cause there's a psycho trickster demon out there puttin' curses on people for the hell of it and it's kinda aiming for us? Or maybe it's the Marine that just got shredded to shit by two wolf-gods! You're out there on your own, and I can't do a damn thing to have your back!”

“Dean, calm down,” Sam tried to ease his worries. He sank down on the armchair, “Gibbs and them, they had my back. I trust them.”

“It's one thing to trust them. But like Bobby said, they don't know crap about hunting. They can't protect you.”

“No, but I can protect them,” he retorted. “Or I can at least try to. I mean, we really don't know how to fight these things. They're demons...right? But they're gods...”

“Bobby says they're demons here. We should be able to fight them or kill them the same way we would a demon.”

“But Cas said Loki needs to be bound.”

“Cas might be wrong,” Dean shrugged. “Hell, he got out this time. What's to stop him from getting out again? Why not kill him and get it over with?”

“Because he needs to be returned to his own dimension,” they both looked over to where the voice had suddenly come from. Castiel stood by the fireplace. 

“With all due respect,” Dean replied. “His own dimension can go to hell.”

“I do not believe the entire dimension is deserving of that fate, Dean,” Castiel replied in a flat tone. 

“Yeah? Well, why do they need Loki back so bad, huh? Doesn't it cost the tax-payers to have this psycho imprisoned for thousands of years?”

“Killing in Asgard is wrong.”

“We're not in Asgard!” Dean exclaimed. “This is our home, man. We make the rules. You come into my house with a weapon, I've got a right to kill your ass.”

“Loki cannot enter this house,” Castiel said. “And I'm not sure how killing just his...ass...will do much good,” he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes in slight confusion.

“A little slow on the metaphors, still...” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Look,” Sam said to Cas. “All we're trying to say is that when it comes down to it, we may have no other choice. Those wolves...they took the entrails from the body they tore apart. And from what Ducky can tell so far, that's all they took. That's a little more than just a coincidence.”

“Indeed, it is,” Castiel told him. “I have discovered some information, which is why I'm here.”

“Oh really?” Dean sat forward. “I thought it was 'cause you heard me talkin' about you,” he smirked.

“I suppose I should be flattered that I am a subject of your thoughts,” he replied. “You have asked Bobby to join you here,” it was more a statement than a question. 

“Well, more like he's comin' here, regardless,” Dean replied.

“I am...relieved,” the angel told them. “There's much to be done in preparation.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“I believe Loki's children, the two wolves were attempting to stop something by taking the entrails. Whoever took the children, did so to retrieve what they'd taken.”

“Well that makes no sense,” Dean said. 

“If the children took the entrails,” Sam began, “That would mean they were trying to protect their father from being bound, right?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel supplied. 

“But that'd suggest there's a demon tryin' to do exactly what we are,” Dean said. “Get their hands on the bindings and put Loki back in his place.”

“With the number of demons out there who brought Loki back in the first place?” Sam questioned. “It just doesn't seem like a risk that some rogue demon would take.”

“Then we must consider the possibility that they intend to use the entrails for a different purpose,” Castiel replied; his gaze fixing somewhere on the floor ahead of him. 

The brothers looked at him in question. “Like what?” Dean asked. 

Castiel met his eyes again, “The only other purpose I can think of; they might intend on resurrecting Fenrir.”

Sam's eyes grew wide and Dean took notice of this. “Fenrir...you mean like the giant wolf son of Loki?” Dean questioned.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “If they are successful, the beast will be reborn in its original size and strength.”

“So, a regular sized wolf,” Dean sighed. “Well that'll make it easy to find,” he scoffed sarcastically.

“It will not be,” Castiel replied, oblivious of the sarcasm. “But if they are successful, you must find and kill Fenrir before he grows, or he will prove most difficult to destroy.”

“Feel free to point us in the right direction, Cas!” Dean exclaimed.

The angel cocked his head, “I will do my best to try and locate the energies of Loki's demon friends. But there are large portions of the city that have been scribed to keep angels out.”

“That's why you need us,” Sam concluded. “Wouldn't it make sense that wherever they've angel-proofed could be where they're located?”

“That's most likely the case,” the angel replied. “However, the number of locations is numerous. What do you think I've been doing all this time?”

“I'd love to come out an' help ya,” Dean said. “But I'm kinda freakin' stuck here.”

“Something I am trying to remedy, Dean,” Castiel reassured him. “But I must advise your caution once we do find them,” he told Sam. “If you were to become gravely injured in battle, I would not be able to get to you. You'll need to lure them out of the scribed area. And when I can retrieve the bindings, I'll have to transport myself and Loki back to his dimension before binding him. Such a journey would exhaust my power. I would be lucky to get back here soon afterward, let alone have the energy to heal you.”

“Then I'll just have to make sure not to get injured,” Sam argued. 

Dean gave him an incredulous look before the angel disappeared from the room. “I don't like this, Sammy,” he protested, pushing himself up from the couch and resuming his earlier state of pacing. “It's bad enough you're out there playin' detective with NCIS without any hunter back-up. But fighting against a bunch of disgruntled other-worldly god-creatures? And me bein' stuck here... I can't help you!”

“I've fought things alone, before, Dean,” Sam said, keeping his place in the chair. “And it's not like I'm going to be alone. I've got the team...”

“Yeah...yeah, the team,” Dean took a few breaths. “Which reminds me; they're gonna need some hunting lessons...”


	7. Chapter 7

McGee walked casually from the elevator into the parking garage at NCIS, and slipped into the passenger seat of Tony's car. “Lieutenant Shriver's info is being blocked,” he told Tony. “It's gonna take at least a day to get access and that's only because Vance is actually pushing it.”

“How'd Gibbs manage that?” Tony asked from his reclined position in the driver seat, trying to keep unseen.

“Not sure. But Gibbs said to go on back to his place. Dean said there's a guy named Bobby Singer coming up to help out.”

“How long are you all gonna be here?” he asked, a hint of worry written on his face.

“Uh...he wants us to stick around till Abby and Ducky finish up, at least. Are you okay to get back, yourself?” Tim seemed to suddenly have caught on to the possibility of danger.

“Yeah, I'm good,” he smirked. “Ya know Abs has a tattoo artist comin' to the house today, right?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, slightly apprehensive.

“Gonna get it on your other cheek, Probie?” he grinned.

Tim narrowed his eyes, “No. I think I'll get it in the same spot Sam and Dean have theirs. Seems to be an effective spot, anyway.”

“I don't think the location matters...does it?” Tony squinted in question.

“I dunno. But why take any chances?” he asked as he opened his door to get out. “Be careful, Tony. We'll see you in a couple hours.”

11 00 11 00 11

 

“We need some kinda plan, Sam,” Dean said as they sat in the basement sharpening stakes. “Cas said you'll have to lure Loki outta there. I'm not even sure if that's possible.”

“Maybe we should look into a way to destroy the angel-proofing,” Sam suggested. “We should be able to detect any scribes with a black light.”

“Then what? I doubt Billy Mays has a product to wash off primordial goo.”

“Maybe he does,” Sam smirked. “Maybe he makes the infomercials in heaven.” Dean looked up at him with raised brows. Then he made a thoughtful expression as he considered the plausible possibility. “But really...I guess we should consider the possibility of just breaking them; literally just...smashing them with an iron mallet.”

“And how do you suggest accomplishing that without drawing attention to yourself?” he asked as he set the finished stake on the work bench and picked up a fresh cut of wood to begin a new one.

“Well, we've got the manpower,” Sam sighed. “We can cause a distraction and have one or two outside breaking the scribes.”

“You need all of them with you inside,” Dean said.

“No, I don't, Dean,” Sam looked up at him from his work. “If I'm fast enough, I can lay a devil's trap. That'll buy us plenty of time to get Cas inside.”

“Even if you're lucky enough to have him trapped, what if there're more demons, Sam? Hell, there could be dozens of them. You have no idea. You're goin' in blind.”

“How is that any different from anything we've ever done?” Sam furrowed his brow.

“Because I'm not there,” Dean gave him an incredulous look.

“It keeps coming back to that, doesn't it?” Sam said as his face fell. “You're not superhuman, Dean. It's not like you have some kinda...special power.” 

“No, I don't. But look at this for what it is, Sammy. Cas has formed himself a nice little army here for a reason; we're up against some bad-ass mojo. So excuse me for thinkin' you shouldn't go in there with every damn soldier you have with you.”

Sam met Dean's stubborn glare, eventually looking away in frustration. By the time he looked back at his older brother, Dean was concentrating on running his knife down the length of the wood. “Look...I get it, okay?” he said, and Dean met his eyes again. “It sucks that you're stuck here and can't go do this with me.”

“Not just that. Every damn time you walk outta this house, man... I gotta worry about some freakin' demon-god curse that might end up takin' you out.”

“You think I'm not worried about that?” Sam retaliated. “Don't you think I'm thinking about that every time I leave here? Every minute I leave you here, alone...” he forced himself to look away for a moment, and Dean narrowed his eyes. “You're the one who's been cursed, Dean,” Sam looked at him again. “I don't know what Cas has protecting this house. And I don't know if I'm gonna end up coming back here to find you like I did back at the motel... So don't sit there and think that I'm not thinking this through. This may not be our average, everyday hunt. But it's gotta be done. I'm gonna fix this...and you gotta let me.”

Dean's focus darted around somewhere in the air between them as he let Sam's words sink in. As he considered how to reply, they heard the front door open upstairs. Out of instinct, both of them were on alert; ready to pull out the big guns. Until they heard the familiar voice calling out.  
“Guys?” it was Tony. They both visibly relaxed as his head poked in through the basement door. “You know you're not banished down here, right?” he smirked. “Hungry?” Tony held out a pizza box and shook it in an inviting way.

11 00 11 00 11

“What's going on, Agent Gibbs?” Vance asked once the lead agent entered the office and shut the door behind him. “I've been told Lieutenant Shriver was involved in a highly classified mission and that's why his personal files are being held confidential. Being killed by wild dogs doesn't warrant an investigation, in their eyes. And it sure as hell doesn't give me much leverage to get the green light on accessing his information.”

“Thought you said you were pressing for this, Director,” Gibbs said as he sat in the chair across from him.

“I am. I told them this was a possible hit. But they've begun their own investigation into the matter. So I need a better reason to bring NCIS into it.”

“It's our jurisdiction. We shouldn't need a better reason.”

“They've got dogs on base,” Vance informed him. “They're interrogating all officers who have them.”

“They're not lookin' in the right place. Ducky's confirming it wasn't just a house pet. Shriver was killed by wolves, and someone walked away with them afterward.”

Vance furrowed his brow, “You're tellin' me someone's got trained wolves and carried the damn things outta that bunker? Do you have any idea how much those things weigh?”

“You got a better explanation, Leon? You saw the file. You saw the pictures.”

“I did. And no, I don't have any explanation, Jethro. But you're gonna have to give me something to tell these people that'll force them to hand it over to your team.”

“Tell them it's not anyone in their unit! And the longer they wait this out, the higher the possibility it'll happen again.”

Vance leaned back in his chair, considering the words. “You're so sure this was an outside job. Why is that? Your gut?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Gibbs stood from the chair. “And no, I'm not sure. Shriver may not have been who he said he was. Not when he was attacked. But there's not a damn way to find that out without knowing who the hell he was supposed to be.”

“I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about, Gibbs. I don't know if I even wanna know. But I'll do what I can...”

11 00 11 00 11

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam smiled when he opened to door for their surrogate father.

“Sam,” Bobby briefly hugged him. “Good to see ya, boy.” Sam let him into the house and closed the door behind them. “Where's your brother?”

“Uh...he's downstairs with Tony. You need a hand with your things?”

“There's a cot in the van, if there's room down there for me,” he replied. 

“Yeah. I'll go grab it and be right down,” he headed for the door.

“Bobby!” Dean grinned as he appeared from the basement door. Bobby set his bag down as Dean made his way to him and gave him his hug.

“How you holdin' up, Dean?”

“Bored to freakin' tears, but not bad. It's good to see ya, Bobby.”

“You too,” Bobby looked him over. 

Dean picked up Bobby's bag and grabbed his arm, “C'mon. Lemme show you our room and introduce you to someone.” He pulled him toward the basement door before releasing him, and Bobby followed from that point. He couldn't help a small grin at Dean's attitude; like an excited little kid. Bobby couldn't remember ever seeing him like this, and he couldn't help but to think this new team was responsible in some way. “Tony, this is Bobby Singer,” Dean said as they hit the bottom steps. “Bobby, this is Tony DiNozzo. He's Gibbs' senior agent.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tony took Bobby's outstretched hand in a shake. 

“Same here,” Bobby said. “Dean's told me a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Tony grimaced.

“A lot of crazy things, actually. All of which I'm glad you made it through.” He glanced at the agent's neck. “I see Castiel patched you up.”

“Yeah...that was a blast,” Tony grinned, slightly nervous about the conversation as a whole, but trying his best to blindly trust the man Sam and Dean had brought into the house. “I've heard a thing or two about you, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Bobby raised a brow and looked at Dean. Before he could respond, Sam's heavy footsteps started down the stairs with Bobby's folded up cot in his hands.

“I could see Gibbs and them pulling up around the block,” Sam told them. “You need to crash a while or are you ready to meet 'em?”

“I'm not that old, Sam,” Bobby scoffed. “It's barely seven.”

“I wasn't tryin' to say you're old, Bobby,” Sam laughed as he set the cot down.

“Sure you weren't. Either way, though, feel free to set that cot up somewhere for me. Unless one of ya wanna swap me a hammock...these look real comfy,” he plopped down into one.

“Hell no, Bobby,” Dean argued. “That one's mine.”

“It'd be kinda rude when they made 'em for Dean and me,” Sam reminded him.

“If you like it that much,” Tony said, “I'm sure we can make another one for you.”

Bobby let out a chuckle, “I'm just messin'. I'd throw out my back if I stayed a whole night in one of these things,” he grunted as he pushed out of it. “Guess I am gettin' old.”

“You're not old, Bobby,” Sam grinned as he completed setting up the cot. 

“Just rough around the edges,” Dean smirked. Bobby raised a brow in his direction. “In an...endearing sort of way, of course...”

Tony, feeling slightly out of place, yet oddly comfortable, decided he should make his leave. “I'm gonna go upstairs and see what plans are for dinner. You have any preferences?”

“I'm sure whatever everyone else is having will be great,” Sam said with an appreciative smile.

“Yeah, let us know what it'll end up settin' you back and we'll chip in,” Dean added.

With a small nod, Tony headed up the stairs just as he heard the front door open. “Hey, boss,” he said when he got to the top and caught sight of him.

“Everything okay?” Gibbs asked.

“Yeah,” Tony gave him a look of question.

“There's a van out front...”

“Bobby's, I assume,” he filled him in. “He's downstairs with Sam and Dean.” Gibbs nodded in acknowledgment and Ziva walked in with McGee. Both agents had large paper grocery bags in each hand and headed toward the kitchen with them. 

Abby rushed in and headed upstairs rather quickly. Tony watched her in question and Gibbs smirked, “She had at least eight Caf-Pows.” 

“We should really have an intervention,” Tony quipped, causing Gibbs to let out a small laugh. Ducky was the last to enter, and closed the door once he was inside. 

“Anthony, my boy,” the doctor greeted. “I trust you're afternoon was pleasantly uneventful?”

“Feel like I've been playin' hookie,” Tony smirked as he followed the group to the kitchen to help unload the groceries. “Except I got permission from the boss.”

“Well, you picked a good day for it,” McGee told him as he placed a few items in the fridge. “We pretty much accomplished nothing.”

“Not completely true, Timothy,” Ducky interjected. “We did manage to confirm that the intestines were, indeed, the one thing missing from Lieutenant Shriver's body. Also, that he had a variety of unexplained injuries I'm having trouble understanding. If only we could get a hold of his medical records...”

“What kinds of injuries?” Tony asked. “And how could you even tell, with him being all...in pieces like that?” he grimaced at the recollection.

“I can tell, Anthony. You forget whom you're speaking with,” he smirked. “Shriver's body showed signs of multiple traumas. Most of them, days or even weeks old. Injuries that would've hospitalized the Lieutenant, at least, if not worse. Broken bones that were obviously not tended to; a wound to his chest, that I'm quite certain was caused by a knife, slicing right through to his lung... By all means, this man should've been dead long before he was.”

“Shriver was most likely possessed,” came the voice of Bobby from the kitchen doorway. They all turned to look at him; Sam and Dean standing a bit behind him in the living room. “Probably for several weeks, it would seem.”

“Uh...” Tony straightened. “Guys, this is Bobby Singer,” he introduced, then proceeded to go around the room introducing the team to him. 

“Real good to meet all of you,” Bobby said. “Dean's said some good things.”

“Well, they've been most helpful,” Ducky said.

“Yeah,” Gibbs added, “Wouldn't have had any of this figured out if we hadn't crossed paths.”

“Well, we've got Abby to thank for that,” Dean smirked. “Speakin' of...where is she?”

“Sorry, guys,” Abby said as she descended the stairs.

“Abby?” Bobby turned to the living room.

“Bobby?” she looked over as she reached the bottom.

“Hey, lady! Good to finally meet ya in person,” he said as they met half-way; Abby giving him a trademark hug.

“You too! I'm so glad you came!” she pulled away.

“Well I couldn't very well sit at home knowin' you were a man short,” he told her. “Anyway, I'm glad to do it.”

“Have you eaten yet?” she asked. “Ducky bought stuff to make dinner.”

“Haven't eaten, and I'd be happy to help out if you need it?” he turned to face the group in the kitchen.

11 00 11 00 11

After a shared meal over getting acquainted, the group relocated to the basement with intentions to begin training. Sam took Tim and Ziva; Dean took Tony and Abby; Bobby took Gibbs and Ducky. Though working as a whole, they were more like spotters for the newest members of demon-hunting. 

“I must honestly say,” Ducky spoke up, “I don't feel as thought I'd be of much help in a hand-to-hand combat situation.”

“Fightin' demons doesn't always involve gettin' up close and personal,” Bobby told him. “Ya don't happen to know how to read Latin, do you?”

“I am a doctor, my good man. It's required of me,” he gave a small smile.

“Great,” Bobby reached into his duffel and pulled out a well-aged book, handing it over the the doctor. “Page 247 is an exorcism incantation. How good are you at memorization?”

“Quite excellent,” Ducky replied without modesty. “Why, in my days at Eton, I did a brief role in one of the productions-”

“Duck...” Gibbs interrupted.

“Right...well...I'll go upstairs where it's a bit quieter,” he said and tucked the book under his arm to make his way up the basement steps.

Gibbs cocked his head at Bobby's questioning glance. “You just saved me from the receiving end of a long-winded story, didn't you?” Bobby asked, knowingly. Gibbs just smirked. Bobby looked him up and down for a moment, thoughtfully. “You were a Marine, weren't ya?” he presumed. Gibbs nodded. “John was a Marine,” he told him. “The boys' father,” he motioned with his head toward Sam and Dean. “Expert rifleman; served in Vietnam.”

“Gunnery Sergeant; sharpshooter in Kuwait,” Gibbs told him.

“Then I take it I don't need to give you any pointers on shootin' a rifle,” Bobby smirked. “Ammo will be a little different,” he pulled out a shotgun shell from his bag. “Packed with rock salt. Won't kill 'em, but it'll slow 'em down.”

*~.~*

“This knife is unique,” Sam held up Ruby's knife to show Ziva and Tim. “An ordinary knife won't kill a demon. Won't even slow it down, really. This one will, in most cases. I'm gonna be carrying the colt. Ziva, you seem to be the best out of the group at wielding knives,” he smirked. “Since Dean won't be out there with us, I'd like you to keep this handy,” he handed the weapon to her.

“I was under the impression that we were to capture the demon so that he can be bound?” she questioned.

“As far as Loki goes, yeah. But chances are he's not gonna be alone.”

“But uh...” Tim stuttered, nervously, “Won't that kill the vessels?”

“You heard what Ducky said about Shriver. Most of these people are probably already injured beyond help. Not to mention, we won't have time to lay devil's traps and do incantations for all of them. We'll need to move quickly, and it's gonna play out as kill or be killed.”

“Well...h-how do I defend myself? How do I kill them?”

“You can slow them down with this,” Sam picked up one of the sawed of shotguns. “You'll be with one of us at all times. As long as you can cover us, slow them down long enough, we can take them out.”

*~.~*

“It'll be up to you to cover Sam,” Dean told Tony after explaining how the rock salt shot gun worked. “He'll try and paint a devil's trap if there's a big enough window, but he'll need someone to watch his back.”

“I'll have his six,” Tony vowed, sensing Dean's apprehension of the situation. “But what if someone comes in that's not a demon, and I end up shooting them?”

“It won't kill 'em. Hurts like a sonofabitch, but they'll be fine. I doubt there's gonna be anyone around that's not part of this crap, though.”

“What about me?” Abby asked. “Where's my gun?”

“You'll get one,” Dean smirked at her willing attitude. “And holy water, like everyone else. But you an' Ducky are gonna be outside. There's gonna be scribes all over the outer walls keepin' Cas out. You'll need to try and break them.”

“Break?” Tony questioned.

“Not exactly sure how to wash 'em off,” Dean smirked. “So you'll have to crack the walls. We'll give you a sledgehammer, if you think you can swing it?” he inquired Abby.

“I can do you one better,” she raised a brow. “I can bring a solvent to weaken the cement. It'll go much faster.”

“Now that's good thinkin',” Dean grinned. 

“So...I've got a question,” Tony piped in and Dean looked at him. Tony was eying the bottle of holy water he held in his hand. “Why don't you put this stuff in super-soakers?”

“Ya mean the squirt-guns?” Dean cocked his head.

“Well yeah. Wouldn't it be more efficient? You could spray them from across the room.”

Dean laughed, “Not exactly our style to walk around with bright orange and green plastic toys, dude. But I have to admit, that's a pretty freakin' sweet idea. We could even make holy water-balloons.”

“Now that's just crazy-talk,” Tony retorted with a playful smirk.

“We could paint the water-guns,” Abby suggested. “If that's what you're really worried about.”

“Well we don't exactly have a ToysRus in the backyard, Abby,” Dean said. 

“I could totally go buy some tomorrow on my lunch break!” she exclaimed.

“You don't go anywhere alone,” Tony told her as his attitude suddenly switched back to full-blown seriousness.

“He's right,” Dean agreed. “You should take Sam with you to NCIS, tomorrow. You can tell your people he's a wildlife expert. We've even got fake credentials for it,” he smirked. 

“McGeek could fake an authenticity search,” Tony elaborated. “And he could convince Vance that the attack was planned, which would gain us quicker access to Shriver's files and possibly help us narrow down the search for a location.”

“Yeah. That and Sammy loves a toy store,” he grinned and turned his head to meet Sam's ever-so-slightly annoyed eyes as the younger Winchester overheard the statement. A knocking sounded from upstairs at the front door.

“Oh!” Abby jumped up excitedly. “That must be Darielle!” she hurried toward the stairs.

“Darielle?” Dean asked no one in particular.

“Tattoo artist,” Tony replied with a nervous smile...

11 00 11 00 11

“Look! We don't even have to paint these!” Abby said excitedly as she picked up the combat-looking water guns. 

“I can't believe Dean actually went for this idea,” Sam replied with a hint of disbelief. “I mean, it's a good idea, don't get me wrong. But it's so...not Dean's style.”

“I think he's accepting all ideas, at the moment,” Abby supplied as they headed toward the front of the store with eight of the guns. 

“Because he's worried about us going out there without him,” Sam added. 

“Well wouldn't you be?” Abby glanced over at him. “I mean, if your brother had to go out there without you to do this...wouldn't you be scared for him? I'm scared every time the team goes out in search for a suspect. Especially with everything that's happened in the past...”

“But you can't stop them, because it's their job. They know the dangers involved.”

“It doesn't make it any less scary for the people standing on the sidelines that can't help,” Abby looked up at him as they got to the checkout counter. Sam looked at her with an understanding that neither of them should have been so unlucky to have...


	8. Chapter 8

“Ow...” Tony squeaked and gently rubbed over the fresh bandage on the side of his neck.

“Oh please, Tony,” Ziva said from her desk across from him. “We all got the same tattoo.”

“No one told me how painful it'd be to get it on my neck,” Tony said through gritted teeth, mostly to hush the conversation as much as possible.

“Is it an idiom, 'you are what you have', McGee?” she asked. 

McGee looked up from his screen, in question, until he figured out what she'd meant. “You mean a pain in the neck?” he grinned. “I think we can make an exception with that one,” he glanced at Tony.

“Real nice, Probie,” Tony scoffed. “I just figured since I was expected to have an injury here anyway, that it made sense.”

“Except when it comes time to remove the bandage and it's in plain sight,” Tim reminded him.

“Bridges to be crossed when we get to them, McKnowitall.”

“Crossin' one now,” Gibbs said as he rounded into the bullpen. “Shriver's files are bein' opened for us. McGee, go down and help Abby an' Sam read through the personnel file and financials. Tony, Ziva, I want you callin' every contact on his list, and I want any and all travel information for the past month. I'm goin' down to see Duck.”

As the bullpen emptied of all but Ziva and Tony, the senior field agent glanced up his partner, “How come McGoo isn't in pain?”

“Perhaps you are just a whiny little baby, Tony,” she smirked.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps you're just a big meanie,” he retorted. She laughed through her nose. “Where'd you get yours, anyway?”

“That is for me to know,” she raised a brow and looked back down at her screen.

Tony's lips curled into a smile, “Is it in the same place as Abby's?” Her eyes flickered briefly up to his before ignoring the question, but a corner of her mouth turned up. His face slackened. “Ziva, do you know where her protection tat is?” Her face remained the same; amused but unresponsive to his questioning. “Zi, if ya don't tell me, I'm never gonna stop asking.”

“I cannot mark myself in such a fashion,” she looked at him blankly. “Jewish belief prevents me from permanently marking myself.”

“But...”

“Darielle gave me a henna tattoo,” she explained. “And it is not in the same place as Abby's permanent one.” With that, she returned her attention back to her screen, leaving Tony's question still unanswered. 

After a long moment of silence, Tony asked, “I could've gotten a henna tattoo?”

11 00 11 00 11

“It seems that several months ago,” Ducky explained to Sam in autopsy, “Lieutenant Shriver had been privately diagnosed with brain cancer. He'd been scheduled for treatment, but never showed.”

“Wouldn't that get him discharged from the military?” Sam questioned as he looked up at the MRI x-ray on the light-board. 

“Had anyone reported it, yes, he would have. Unfortunately, some private doctors can be bribed to keep secrets. Under the circumstances, his Commander was able to track this information down during the investigation.”

“If he missed his treatment, chances are he would've been possessed at least that long ago,” Sam suggested.

“It would seem so, Samuel. I do believe our Lieutenant would not have made it this far, had he not been.” Sam narrowed his eyes in question. “At the stage in which they discovered the cancer, without treatment, it would have progressed quite rapidly. He would've been dead in a matter of weeks.”

Sam looked back at the x-ray, eying the obvious blurred area in the image. “Wouldn't someone have noticed something was wrong with him? I mean...before he was possessed. People who served with him; they'd be like family. They would've been able to tell, right?”

“The symptoms would've been obvious at that point, yes. Mental confusion, dizziness, altered vision, difficulty in speech, clumsiness...well, the list goes on and on. But those would have been the most noticeable for the people around him. Headaches and nausea would have been the reasons for his visit to a doctor in the first place.”

Just then, the doors hissed open beside them and Gibbs walked in, looking slightly confused as to why Sam was there. “Got somethin' for me, Duck?”

“Only that you should expand the time-period for your search,” he replied.

“I'll uh...go back up to the forensics lab,” Sam said, before heading out of the room.

“Medical reports?” Gibbs queried.

“None of the injuries I discovered had been treated by a military appointed or other physician,” the doctor told him. “The only indicative we have, as I just told young Samuel, is the medical diagnosis made a few months ago. He was to receive treatments beginning six weeks ago, Jethro. He never showed for any of them.”

11 00 11 00 11

Dean quietly aimed his weapon across the room where Bobby sat; his back facing him as he packed shells with rock salt. “Bobby,” Dean called out. Bobby turned to face him and grew wide-eyed as Dean pulled the trigger.

Cool water hit Bobby in the face, dripping down onto his shirt before Dean let up, laughing at his shenanigan. “Ya damn chucklehead!” Bobby wiped a hand down his face. “Give a guy a heart attack, why don't ya!”

“I'm sorry, Bobby,” Dean laughed. “But the look on your face...priceless, I swear.” As his laughter died down, he sighed. “This was such a great idea. Squirt-guns...Tony's a freakin' genius.”

“Yeah, remind me to thank 'im,” Bobby scoffed as he turned around to resume his work.

Dean's cell rang, then, and he checked the caller ID before answering. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Abby and McGee think they've narrowed down the location,” Sam said on the other line.

“Yeah?”

“Get on my laptop and I'll send the coordinates.”

“Okay. I'll call Cas and have him meet me here. When are you gonna be back?”

“We're leaving here in about an hour.”

“See you then,” he ended the call and dialed Castiel's number as he booted up Sam's computer. After three rings, the other line picked up.

“Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. Need you to come back to the house...”

11 00 11 00 11 

“Cas was able to detect the energies easily, once he was in the correct area,” Dean told the group that had gathered in the basement. “He's stakin' the place out to try and get an idea how many black-eyed bitches we're up against.”

“So...when so we do this?” Tony asked, albeit nervously.

“We wait till nightfall,” Sam told him. “We'll need to be able to use the black light to detect the scribes.”

“And it'll give you better cover,” Dean added.

“Won't be dark for a few hours,” Gibbs said. “You should try and get some rest while you can,” he told them all.

“Are you kidding me, Gibbs?” Abby said. “Like I'll be able to take nap right now...”

“C'mon, Abs,” Tony took her arm in his, “Let's go watch a movie in the living room,” he gave her a comforting smile. Gibbs sent a look of approval and appreciation to Tony as the two of them made their way upstairs. 

A nerve-wracked-looking McGee headed toward the stairs next. “Guess I'll go play some Red Cell for a while. Maybe I'll fall asleep.”

“I'll go over the incantation again,” Ducky said before following behind him. “Couldn't hurt to be prepared.”

“Need help packin' this stuff up?” Gibbs asked, motioning toward the wide array of weapons they'd be using.

“Sure,” Bobby said. “Sam and I were just about to take it up to the van.”

“I'll help with that,” Gibbs offered, and the three of them picked up everything in one trip up the stairs.

Dean took a breath and sat down on one of the saw horses and spied Gibbs' bottle of bourbon. Deciding it was worth the risk of being kicked in the ass, he poured some into an empty coffee mug and drank it down, wincing at the unexpected burn before glancing at the proof on the bottle.  
“Ya know,” Tony's voice sounded as he came back down the steps, and Dean turned to see him. “You're supposed to sip that, or so Gibbs says,” he smirked. 

Dean let out a soundless laugh and turned back to face the bench. “Thought you an' Abby were watchin' a movie.”

“Yeah, she passed out before the opening credits,” he laughed. Noticing Dean's inner-distress, Tony sat on another saw horse beside him. “You okay?”

Dean gave him a sideways glance; a smirk playing on the corner of his mouth that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Why wouldn't I be?” his voice cracked and he immediately looked away, cursing himself internally. Tony watched him wearily as he pushed up off the saw horse to stand and began to pace. “Guess I uh...” he sighed and rubbed a hand down his face before coming to a stop and turning to face him. “I just got a bad feeling, is all.”

“That's not exactly the kinda pep talk a guy wants to hear before going off to kill some demon-god-thing,” Tony replied.

“Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, man, I'm just...” he took a deep breath and let it out, noisily, “I'm just stir-crazy from bein' stuck here, I guess. I don't like that I can't be out there to look out for Sam. He's my little brother; that's my job. Can't let anything happen to him, ya know?” he swallowed and looked away. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Tony said as he stood. “But you can't be out there. So you'll have to trust me to have his six,” he told him. Dean turned to meet his eyes again. “I know I'm not you and I'm not experienced in knockin' off demons. But I can promise you that I'll do everything in my power to make sure he comes back here in one piece,” his eyes bore nothing but truth. “Just call me the substitute Winchester,” he smirked.

Dean considered him for a long moment; remembered all the things he'd read about him. And he knew this man was being sincere. “You'd do that for me?” he asked.

“Well yeah,” he replied. “We're a team.” Dean visibly relaxed his features. And for the first time in days, he wasn't completely terrified...

11 00 11 00 11

“This is it,” Castiel told Sam from the back seat of the Impala as they pulled up to a white-washed, one-story building. Tony was in the front passenger seat; Tim in the back with Castiel and Abby. The van was close behind them carrying the others. 

Castiel turned his head to look at McGee, who seemed even more nervous than before, and placed a hand on the agent's shoulder, causing Tim to look over at him. “Don't be afraid, Tim McGee,” the angel said.

McGee wasn't sure if it was some heavenly power, or the simple fact that an angel had spoken the words, but he suddenly felt much less anxious. After taking a breath, he nodded appreciatively to Castiel and opened his door to get out with the rest of them.  
“What about the black light?” Abby asked as she looked at the building.

“Got that covered,” Bobby said as he went back to the cab of the van. “Watch this,” he flicked a switch to turn off the headlights, then another to switch on blacklights that high-beamed from the front of the van. “Rigged that up this afternoon.” They looked at the building covered in glowing cryptic symbols and Abby couldn't help but to feel slightly overwhelmed for just a moment before turning back to the group.

They all stood together in a bit of a circle as Sam spoke, “Abby and Ducky, we discussed you breaking the scribes. Cas will be out here with you so you have more than enough protection with him and your weapons.” Bobby and Gibbs were busy handing out shotguns and holy water to the group. “The rest of us will go in together. But I want two specific teams; Bobby and Gibbs, you should stay near Ziva. She's got Ruby's knife, so if you can cover her, she can take them out. Tony and Tim, stay with me. I've got the colt.   
“Bobby and I will try and lay devil's traps once we're inside. That's when we'll need the most cover. Once we've secured the area inside, all we have to do is wait on Cas.”

“That's assuming you trap Loki in the first place,” Bobby said.

“Which is why we're putting devil's traps at the door, too,” Sam cocked his head. “And salting the entrances. This is all gonna go down fast,” he explained. “There's no room for hesitation.” The group stood there, weapons ready and fear being stifled by determination and confidence. “I know we can do this. We were brought together for a reason and I think you all know that now, more than ever.”

Bobby nodded approvingly at his words, “Alright, now. Let's get this goin' before any of us changes our mind.”

They moved into position; Abby and Ducky getting straight to work spraying solvent on the scribes. Bobby quickly sprayed out a devil's trap right outside the door as Ducky quickly salted.   
The team quickly entered the building, Abby and Ducky watching and praying silently for a moment once they were inside. Then they quickly got back to work; Abby took a heavy swing with the sledgehammer, breaking a good bit of the cement under one of the scribes.

*~.~*

At first, it was relatively silent in the building. The hall was dark, but dim light shone ahead in what seemed to be a much larger room. The floors were cement and the building seemed empty and unused. The group split off when the halls did.   
The larger room was empty and Sam took the opportunity to pull the can of red spray paint from his pocket before kneeling down to begin laying a devil's trap. The room was dark, but not so much that they couldn't see each other clearly.   
McGee felt a bit like he was in a first-person shooter game as he pointed his shotgun around the room, consistently checking the doorways. Tony did the same at Sam's other side until he heard the spraying stop. He glanced at Sam as he pulled out a folded up cloth of some sort. He watched as he held one side and threw it out like a sheet, laying it down over the symbol on the floor.   
It was almost instantaneous once the fabric settled, that the room became occupied by two unfamiliar faces. “Sam!” Tony yelled as one came toward him. Tony took a shot, sending the demon on its back for a moment. McGee managed to hit the second one and the sounds of their gunfire brought the rest of the team into the room.

“Ziva!” Sam called. “You need to take them out,” he motioned to the black-eyed men as they stood. Sam pulled out his colt as another demon made its way toward them.   
Ziva was quick to take out the first demon she came to, but slightly startled at the way his body seemed to flash before her eyes. Reacting as if it was actual electricity, she pulled the knife out immediately. But the second demon managed to knock her across the room; the knife slipping from her hand and sliding across the floor.  
Bobby was quick to run and cover the freshly unconscious girl before Sam shot the thing. The third demon seemed unaffected by Tony and McGee's gunfire as he slowly walked forward; his eyes set on Sam Winchester. 

“Well, well,” it said. “What do we have here? A little boy?”  
McGee secretly prayed that Tony wouldn't pick up on the movie quote before glancing over at him. But amidst the obvious fright evident in his partner's eyes, the corner of Tony's mouth turned up a bit, indicating that he had.

“Loki,” Sam guessed.

“You've heard of me,” Loki replied. “How flattering.” He kept walking forward as Sam backed up, his hand out to the side leading Tim and Tony to back away with him.   
Suddenly, it seemed as though Loki had hit an invisible wall. Sam's face relaxed then and he dropped his arm, still aiming the colt at the demon. Loki looked down at his feet, then dragged the cloth away a bit with his foot. He let out what seemed like an exasperated sigh.

“Bobby,” Sam called. “See how far they are. Help Gibbs get Ziva out to Cas.” None of them looked back to see if they were following the requests, but they could hear them as they headed out. Their focus, however, was on Loki.

*~.~*

Gibbs carried Ziva outside to Castiel as Bobby checked on Abby and Ducky's progress. “Ah hell,” Bobby exclaimed. “At this rate, we'll be here till they send reinforcements.”

“Got another sledgehammer?” Gibbs asked. 

“Got two more,” he said as he hurried to the van. Soon they were all working to break the cement...

*~.~*

The demon-god looked up at Sam, slowly; an evil grin curling on his face in such a way that reminded Tony of the Grinch. “Sam, Sam, Sam,” he shook his head. “How's your head feeling?”

Sam furrowed his brow at him, confused. He was hit by an unexpected wave of nausea, staggered back a couple of steps, then threw up a meager amount of stomach acid onto the floor under him. The action caused pain to fire up at his temples.  
“What are you doing to him?!” Tony yelled. Tim stepped back a bit at the sudden change of events.

“He's doing it to himself,” Loki replied. “Aren't you, Sam?”

“You cursed me!” Sam yelled, dropping to his knees as the pain worsened. All the strength left his body.

“Yes, but you supplied the brain cancer all on your own, didn't you?” Loki laughed.

“Stop it,” Tony demanded. “Stop whatever you've done...”

“Not going to happen,” he dismissed him, then turned his gaze to McGee, eerily, causing the younger agent to freeze where he stood. “Hello again Timothy,” he smiled. “I have a special surprise for you.” 

McGee straightened just as a dark image appeared in front of him...growling softly, bearing its teeth. It was a wolf. “Fenrir,” McGee guessed.

“You've heard on my son, then,” Loki smiled. Tim spotted Ruby's knife from the corner of his eyes the moment before he heard Loki say, “Sic him,” and he dove toward it.

“McGee!” Tony yelled, firing at the dog as it pounced. The shots had no effect on it, and Tony watched in horror as it tore at Tim's flesh.   
Time seemed to slow as he ran toward his partner, watching Tim grab for the knife as he screamed out agonizingly. But the younger agent didn't stray from his efforts; he grasped the knife and stuck it into the dog's belly, causing the creature to emit a deathly howl before it fell away.  
Tony was at his side in that moment, “Probie...” he appraised the damaged agent on the floor in front of him. Tim's shirt was in wet, red strips across the gruesome tears in his flesh. The agent coughed out a breath and blood poured sickly from his mouth. “Jesus, McGee...I gotta get you outta here...” he frantically pulled off his jacket and pressed it over the oozing wounds. 

Tim's hand shot out and grabbed Tony by the sleeve, “Finish...it...Tony...” he choked out. Then his hand dropped lifelessly to the floor.

“McGee?” Tony panicked, searching for a pulse. “Tim...” his voice cracked as he found none. “No...”


	9. Chapter 9

Tony forced himself to stand and turn away from his dead friend...his little brother.... “You sonofabitch,” he snarled at Loki as Bobby hurried back into the room to see what had happened. 

Loki simply laughed, heartily. Bobby saw the sorry sight of McGee on the floor, then Sam, who seemed ill as he barely held himself up. Tony, however, was furious. He sprang forward, grabbing the colt from Sam's hand.  
“Tony, we gotta let Cas take him back,” Bobby said, sympathetically.

Tony turned briefly to look at him, “I made Dean a promise,” he told him. “I'm not gonna let Sam die, too.” His voice cracked with those words as he turned back to Loki and fired the weapon directly at his forehead.

They were surprised by the sudden quaking of the ground beneath them before the creature sparked and fell lifelessly to the floor. Tony turned and walked to Bobby and placed the gun in his hands. “Boy, what did you do?”

“Castiel said he couldn't heal him after the amount of power it'd take to return Loki,” he replied, flatly. “Help Sam out,” he told him before turning to his fallen comrade. Tony slowly sank down behind where Tim's head lay. “Damnit, Tim...” tears fell down his cheeks, “I'm sorry. I should've had your six, man. I...I let you down...” 

“Tony,” Bobby's voice sounded beside him but he didn't look up. “Cas can help him.”

“He's dead, Bobby,” Tony replied.

“I can see that...” he paused for a moment, helping Sam get his footing. “Come on. You're gonna have to bring him out.”

Unable to process the reality of what Bobby was saying, Tony was robotic in following the order. However, he couldn't quite figure out how to carry him out. Dragging seemed a bit undignified. About as much as a fireman's carry, in fact. He decided to simply lift him up like a sleeping child, and it made Tony realize just how light the agent had become over the past year or so.  
As he turned to head up the hallway, he realized Bobby was already outside, and Gibbs was walking toward him. Tony began walking up the hall toward his boss.  
“God...” Gibbs' face fell at the sight of McGee.

“I'm sorry, boss,” Tony's voice was barely a whisper as he paused in front of him. “I'm sorry...” Gibbs shook his head and tried to take over the work of carrying their fallen teammate, but Tony flinched away. “No...” he shook his head and blinked as more tears traced the paths already on his face. “No, boss, let me do this.” 

Gibbs swallowed and moved from his path, following behind Tony as he made the long trek to the outside of the building. As they reached the open air, the blacklights from Bobby's van danced across him, making everything seem surreal...like a nightmare.  
“Oh my god...Timmy...” Abby's cry was unmistakeable. Her hands covered her mouth, but Tony couldn't bring himself to look at her and see that for himself.

“Place him on the ground, Tony,” Castiel told him.

“He's dead,” Tony repeated, his heart breaking a little more each time he had to say it.

“Place him on the ground,” he told him again. Tony closed his eyes, resignedly, and slowly sank down on his knees. Gently, he laid Tim in the grass and pulled away slightly. He barely registered himself being helped to stand up; barely processed that Ziva and Sam were beside him, fully healed and talking to him.

“Everything's gonna be okay, Tony,” Sam told him. Tony looked at him as though he was speaking a language he couldn't understand. 

Beside them, Castiel touched McGee's forehead, as he had done to Tony just couple of nights ago. Tim sucked in a breath, eyes opening wide as his hands searched his chest for wounds that were no longer there.   
Gibbs, relieved, reached for Tim's hand and helped him to stand up. Before the younger agent could fully process everything that had just happened, he caught sight of his seemingly distraught partner. Then he remembered...everything. “Tony?” he reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the agent to turn and look at him. 

Tony blinked a few times before realizing who he was looking at. “McGee?” his voice cracked.  
“Yeah, Tony. I'm okay. We've got an angel, remember?” he smiled.

Tony let out a shaky breath before pulling the younger agent to him in a tight embrace. “Damnit, Probie, I'm sorry...” 

Tim could feel him shaking as he returned the hug. “Sorry for what? Wasn't your fault, Tony.” Tony didn't reply, but continued his hold on McGee. Tim glanced worriedly at Gibbs.

“Kid's probably in shock,” Bobby said. “Let's get 'im back to the house an' take care of 'im.”

11 00 11 00 11

Dean had been pacing the living room since receiving the text from his brother telling him they were done and on the way back. Fighting the urge to call for some sort of elaboration on the vague text had proved to be almost completely unbearable.   
“Dean,” Castiel's sudden presence caused him to nearly jump out of his skin.

“How many times, Cas!” he yelled. “Just because you could heal me if I have a heart attack, doesn't mean you should try an' give me one every time you wanna show up here!”

“I'm sorry.”

“How're you zappin' in here, anyway? I thought you'd be outta juice after transporting Loki back.”

“That is not how the evening transpired,” he replied vaguely.

Dean raised his brows in question, “Care to fill me in?”

“It became necessary to kill Loki and Fenrir.”

“Hold up...Fenrir was there? Like, the giant wolf thing?”

“I do not believe he was giant at the time, no,” Castiel replied.

“Wait...you didn't see him?”

“No, I did not. I was unable to get inside.”

After long silent moments that Dean deliberately left open for the angel to elaborate, he gave up and continued his questioning, “Cas, what the hell happened?”

“I am unsure of the details of the events that transpired. But Loki and Fenrir are dead. Your curse has been lifted and so has Sam's.”

“Sam wasn't cursed,” Dean stated, but it was more of a prelude to confirmation.

“Before Loki was destroyed, he cursed Sam. Once the curse had been lifted, I healed him from the late stages of brain cancer.”

Before Dean had a chance to reply, the front door opened; Gibbs and Ziva on either side of Tony, assisting the agent into the house. One look at Tony caused Dean's eyes to widen in shock. He was covered in blood from his chin to his knees, and the distant look on his face made him look unfamiliar. “Jesus, Cas! What the hell are you waiting for!”

“He is uninjured, Dean,” Castiel told him. “It is not his blood.” Dean was unsure what to do as the group filed into the house. 

“Gonna give him your room, Duck,” Gibbs said without turning back from their journey up the hall.

“Of course, Jethro,” the doctor replied and disappeared into the room with them.

“Dean,” Sam's voice caused Dean to look back at the door just as his brother closed it behind him and McGee. Tim looked just as bloody, if not moreso than Tony, but the younger agent escaped wordlessly up the stairs. 

“Dude, what happened? And skip the 'Loki and Fenrir were killed' part, 'cause Cas told me,” he took a moment to appraise his brother. “You okay? I heard Loki cursed you there at the end.”

“I'm fine. Need a beer, though,” he headed for the kitchen and Dean followed, slightly annoyed at having to wait for an explanation. 

“What about McGee? He looked pretty messed up.”

“He was. Cas brought him back. He'll need a new shirt, though,” he said as he fetched a beer from the fridge.

“Wait...brought him back? You tellin' me McGee got killed back there?” his eyes were wide with disbelief.

Sam took a long drink from the bottle before replying, “Yeah. Fenrir ripped him open like a hellhound.” Dean's stomach churned at that. “But he stabbed the bitch with Ruby's knife before...”  
“And you used the colt on Loki,” Dean surmised.

“Couldn't,” Sam replied. “I was so screwed, Dean. Couldn't even move. If Tony hadn't been there, we wouldn't have made it out.” Dean sank down in one of the chairs at the table. “He knew Cas wouldn't be able to heal me if he had to zap Loki back, so he killed him.”

Dean swallowed, eternally grateful for having entrusted the agent to have his brother's back. “So what's wrong with him, then?” he met his brother's eyes.

Sam sat down across from him at the table. “He watched Tim die. Before he shot Loki, he watched him bleed to death and had no idea Cas could bring him back. God, Dean...you shoulda seen... he looked so damn lost.”

“Doesn't he realize Tim's okay?” Dean asked in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, but he's kinda in shock. I mean, there's only so much you can see in one shot before your brain kinda decides it's not sure what to believe.” 

Dean watched in silence as his brother finished his beer and fetched another one. And it wasn't until he was halfway done with that one, that he spoke again. “Tony disobeyed orders from an angel of the Lord to save you, Sammy,” he said it out loud, as if realizing the enormity of it just then, himself.

“Yeah,” Sam let out a small laugh. “It was almost like having you right there.”

“He said he was the substitute Winchester,” he smirked, and Sam gave him an inquisitive look. “Earlier this evening before you all left, he said that. He was my fill-in.”

“Well he did a pretty damn good job, in my book.”

“Mine, too,” Dean replied. 

“He did not disobey my orders,” Castiel chimed in from the doorway. “I didn't give any orders; only suggestions.”

“They don't know ya like we do,” Dean told him. “When an angel gives 'suggestions', people tend to think of them as the straight an' narrow path they gotta walk down.”

“You mean, people that are not you,” Castiel replied.

“Yeah, that's what I mean,” Dean smirked. “But I know you, Cas. Doesn't count.”

“You did not follow my suggestions, from the very beginning, when you barely knew me, Dean. When I raised you up from Hell-”

“You know what I mean!” Dean cut him short.

Castiel made a face that seemed as though he planned to reply, but then his gaze drifted elsewhere. “I must go,” he said. “Please do not leave until I have returned.”

“Go where? You mean the house, or the city?” Dean questioned. But the angel was gone. “Sonofabitch...”

11 00 11 00 11

“There we are, Anthony,” Ducky said as Tony pulled a clean shirt on over his head.

“Ducky, I'm fine,” Tony replied softly as he sat down on the foot of the bed.

“Well, you're cleaned up now, anyway,” the doctor replied. He took a throw blanket that Gibbs had been holding onto for him and draped in around the younger agent.

“Thanks,” Tony said as his hands grasped for the edges and pulled it tighter around him.

“I'll just go and make you some tea,” Ducky told him, then glanced at Gibbs before heading out of the room. 

Gibbs moved a chair to sit in front of his senior field agent, and after a moment, Tony's eyes met his. “You feelin' any better?” Gibbs asked.

“Yeah, boss. I'm good,” he said, but his eyes told a different story to the man sitting in front of him.

Gibbs took hold of the hands that were clenching unnecessarily at the blanket, and brought them down to the small space in between where their knees were almost touching. “Tell me what happened, Tony,” he said softly.

Tony lightly shook his head, but kept eye-contact with his boss, “Don't wanna think about it.”

“Think you're already doin' that,” he replied. “I also think it might help if you talk about it. What happened...doesn't happen to people, in my experience, anyway. You saw more of it than I did, though. So processing it's a little more difficult. Let me try and help you.” Tony's eyes darted around on Gibbs' face as he thought. “When Bobby and I left with Ziva, Sam had Loki caught in the devil's trap thing. What happened when we left, Tony?”

After a moment, Tony began, “He did something to Sam,” he whispered. “Sam staggered; puked... Loki said something about brain cancer. I told him to stop...but he ignored me. I didn't realize when McGee started backing away, till Loki looked right at him.” Tony paused for a moment, blinking rapidly in desperation to hold it together. Gibbs gave his hands a squeeze, and it seemed to help Tony focus. “It told him it had a surprise for him,” he breathed. “Then...there was the dog...just standing there right in front of him. Loki ordered it to sic him...Tim dove for Ruby's knife. I fired off some shots at the thing, but it didn't even flinch. McGee was...screaming...” as the images played back in his head, he couldn't hold back the shiver that went through him, “As that thing...ripped through his chest,” he said through gritted teeth. “But he never stopped fighting, boss. You'da been proud of him. He grabbed that knife and thrust it into that demon piece of shit before I could even get to him.”  
Tony hadn't registered when Gibbs moved from the chair to sit beside him on the bed, until he felt his arm around his shoulders, pulling him comfortingly to his side. That's when he realized he was once again shaking. “I tried to stop the bleeding,” he continued. “But he was gone...within seconds. I didn't know Castiel could bring him back, boss. I thought it was too late.”

“But you got back up, anyway,” Gibbs said. 

“I had to,” he replied. “Sam was in trouble. Couldn't let him die. I made a promise...” And that's when it hit him; realization smacking into him like the unkind quaking they'd felt after Loki was shot. “I promised to have Sam's six, but I... I didn't have McGee's,” he became aware that the quaking was now his own body as Gibbs held him tighter. “I couldn't let Dean down, too. I had to kill Loki to save Sam...”

“And you saved McGee, too, Tony,” Gibbs reminded him. “Because you kept your promise to Dean, you saved them both. Tim's okay, now. He's better than okay, Tony; just worried about you, now.”

“I'm fine, boss,” he insisted. But his position remained unchanged; head on Gibbs' shoulder, his body trembling beside him, and his hands re-clenching the blanket in front of him.

“You will be...”

*~.~*

“Can I bring it to him, Ducky?” Dean asked as the doctor finished preparing the tea. 

Sam, Abby and Ziva were down in the basement, talking, and McGee had yet to come downstairs. “Certainly, young man. I'd like to check on Timothy, anyway.”

“Thanks,” he said as he took the cup and headed toward the room. He knocked lightly on the door, and after a moment, Gibbs opened it. “He okay?” Dean queried.

“Getting there,” he replied.

“Can I have a minute with him, sir?” he asked. Gibbs turned to look at Tony, and upon receiving no protest, turned back to Dean and nodded before leaving the room. “Thanks,” he told him before entering and closing the door behind him. “Hey,” Dean started toward him, slowly.

Tony stood, as if just realizing who was in the room with him, and the blanket fell from his shoulders. “I'm sorry...Loki cursed him and I...couldn't do anything to make it stop...”

“Dude,” Dean set the cup down on the dresser and turned back to face him, “You saved Sam.” Without hesitation or thought, Dean found himself hugging the agent. “You saved my brother. Thank you,” he pulled away, keeping his hands on the man's arms to lead him to sit back down. “I owe you, man,” he said as he retrieved the cup and placed is in Tony's hand.

“You don't owe me anything,” Tony replied as he looked into the cup. “You already saved my friends...from my father,” he looked up to meet his eyes.

“Smokin' a ghost is child's play,” he smirked as he sat in the chair in front of him. “What you did...man, Cas was right; you were meant for this. You're a hunter and I'm glad to have you with us in this.”

“I'm a hunter?” Tony questioned.

“A freakin' natural. Take after my own heart; breakin' away from the plan in order to save people.”

“Was it bad?” Tony asked. “What I did...did it make things worse otherwise?”

“Killin' Loki? I'm pretty sure the pussies from that dimension just couldn't bring themselves to do it themselves. You did 'em a favor. Sometimes it's not an option to bring 'em in alive, ya know?” After a moment, Tony nodded. “Drink your tea, dude. Then you should get some sleep.”

11 00 11 00 11

“Timmy, I'm so glad you're okay,” she hugged him once he came down to the basement. He'd showered and changed, hoping that if Tony saw him not covered in blood, maybe it would help. “I was so...seeing you like that was so hard...” she pulled away and looked at his face.

“I'm okay, Abs,” he smiled at her. 

“I know you are, now. Just...don't ever do that again!”

“Get ripped to shreds by a wolf-god? Don't worry; I'm not planning on it,” he laughed. The swift smack to the back of the head came unexpectedly, and he turned, almost expecting to find Gibbs standing behind him. As he glanced further around the basement, he realized the one person he'd come in search of, wasn't there. “Where's Tony?”

“Guest room on the ground floor,” Gibbs replied from where he sat on the saw horse beside the work bench. “You want a drink, McGee?”

“Actually, yeah. I wouldn't mind one. I feel a little riled up,” he said as he approached his boss.

“Me too,” Sam said from where he lay in his hammock. “We can thank Cas for that,” he smirked. “I'd drag you out to shoot some pool or something, but apparently Cas wants us to stay put till he gets back.”

“Where'd he go?” Tim asked as Gibbs handed him a glass of bourbon.

“Not sure. Dean said he got, and I quote, 'an inquisitive look on his face and took off',” Sam explained. 

Tim nodded then turned to Gibbs, “Is Tony okay?”

“He's shaken up, but he'll be okay.”

“I don't blame him. I wish he hadn't had to see that. I can't imagine how bad it looked, regardless how I know it felt,” he replied.

“It was bad,” Sam said, and they looked over at him.

“You saw it, too? I thought you were pretty out of it...” McGee furrowed his brow.

“No, I didn't see it,” he said. “But Dean...” he took a deep breath at the memory, “Dean was killed by a hellhound a year or so ago... I was in the room...pinned against the wall by a demon. I couldn't stop it...”

“A hellhound?” Ziva spoke up for the first time in a long while. 

“It's kind of a long story...”

“Well, it'd seem we're stuck here for a while,” McGee said as he took a seat on a vacant saw horse.

Sam took another breath as he shifted a bit in the hammock. “Back before we met Castiel, Dean made a deal to save me,” he began. “A bad deal...with a demon. They bring me back, and they come for him in trade. They gave him a year. The hellhound is just what it sounds like; a demon-dog. You can't see them unless it's you they're after...or if you're a demon, of course. Their main purpose, as far as we can tell, is to collect souls to take down to hell.”

“If you had not met Castiel at this point,” Ziva said, “How did Dean survive?”

“He didn't,” Sam told her. “Dean was dead; buried in a pine box for four months,” his jaw clenched as he looked down somewhere on the fabric of the hammock. “I tried to get him back; make deals...everything. But no one would do it,” he looked back up at the people who were intently listening to the story in awe. 

“And it's a damn good thing, too,” Bobby piped in from his previously silent place on the cot in the far corner of the room. 

“Dean was in Hell,” Sam argued. “The Hell. Suffering horrible things you can't even begin to imagine. Four months here on Earth is actually more like forty years down there, and I don't mean that figuratively. So excuse me if I still feel a little shitty for not being able to bring him back sooner.”

“The fact he got out at all is what you should be grateful for,” Bobby reminded him.

“I am, Bobby. That's not my point. None of this was...I was just trying to explain that I know what it felt like to watch that happen; how every...rip of flesh and every scream... I could feel everything inside me being torn apart, too.” 

When he finally looked up again, Ziva was sinking down into the hammock beside his. At the sight of his shining eyes, she reached out and briefly squeezed his hand in effort to comfort him. He gave her an appreciative smile that also seemed to say, 'It's not really necessary'. But she kept it anyway. “How did Dean get out?” she asked.

“Castiel,” he replied.

“It's how we met him,” Bobby added, “When we were tryin' to figure out how he came back. Castiel's orders are to protect Dean and Sam.”

“So he's like a guardian angel?” Abby asked.

“He must be more than that,” Ziva interjected. “He has gathered a small army and has led us to battle. And he is a healer, clearly.”

“I'm not really sure what to categorize him as,” Sam said. “But of all the angels we've met, he's the only one we can trust.”

“You've met other angels?” Gibbs asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sam told him. “Most of them are dicks.”

“Holy crap, Sam!” Abby stomped over to him and whacked him in the arm.

“Ow, Abby! What was that for?”

“You're gonna get yourself struck down or something, talking like that!”

“Yeah, trust me...they're not gonna do anything like that. Then they wouldn't be able to toy with us anymore,” Sam rubbed his arm and looked back down at his lap.

“What does that even mean?” she asked more softly.

“Abs,” Gibbs warned. “I think we're all a bit worn out from the day. Let's let Sam and Bobby alone and head upstairs.” She was slightly annoyed that she was being forced to abandon her question, but listened anyway. 

As Gibbs, McGee and Abby started up the stairs, Ziva stood out of the hammock and looked down at Sam as he met her eyes. “I am...glad that you have the right angel protecting you both,” she told him.

“Protecting all of us, now,” he smiled at her. 

The corners of her mouth turned up and she bent down, placing a kiss on his cheek, “Goodnight, Sam.” 

“Night, Ziva,” he grinned as she headed up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Bobby,” she said before disappearing on the top steps.

“Night,” he called, then looked over at Sam. “How come I didn't get a goodnight kiss?”

11 00 11 00 11

He laid on the floor, bleeding out... The room was quickly slipping out of focus, but his eyes met those of the demon trapped across the room. And for a brief moment, he heard a voice inside his head...

“It's not over...” 

A feeling of dread wrapped around him, but his view of the demon was suddenly blocked; his hand reached out and grabbed his friend's arm...warning him, “Finish...it...Tony...”

McGee shot up from his sleep in a cold sweat, realizing then, that he was on Gibbs' couch. He'd given Ducky his room and opted for the couch in case Tony woke up in the night.   
He fumbled for the switch of the table-side lamp, and when he finally managed to turn it on, he was startled to see Castiel sitting in the armchair across from him, and he jumped, letting out a small, embarrassing yelp.  
Putting a hand to his chest in effort to will his heart down from its sudden racing pace, he looked Castiel in the eye, “What are you doing there?”

“I'm sorry if I frightened you,” Castiel said. “It would seem there are very few options as far as where I could sit and wait, without causing some sort of apprehensive response once I was discovered.”

“Sitting in the dark, watching a person sleep, is borderline creepy, if you'd have been anyone else,” McGee told him.

“I assure you that it was not my intention to be...creepy.”

“So, what are you doing there?” he repeated.

“I was waiting for you to wake up,” he replied, flatly.

“Uh...why?” McGee furrowed his brow.

“Loki spoke to you. I need to know what he said.”

“H-how did you...”

“It's important, Tim,” he leaned forward.

McGee's eyes darted around in the air between them for a long moment. “I...I didn't remember it until I had the dream,” he told him as he met his eyes again. “But he said... 'it's not over'. What does that mean?”

Castiel leaned back into the chair as his eyes focused elsewhere. “It means exactly what he said. We have more work to do...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin


End file.
